


Metamorphosis

by Azaraethe



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Anal Sex, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Internal Conflict, M/M, Masturbation, Mystery, Oral Sex, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaraethe/pseuds/Azaraethe
Summary: “So, he can tell me how stupid I was? Instead of you?”“Come.” Siegfried crossed the distance between both of them in two large strides, clamping his hand on Lancelot’s wrist, making sure it was his uninjured side. “If we ride now, we will make it back to the capital city by midnight.”Summary : Lancelot struggles to become a good Captain but severe accidents and the death of a knight led to him to doubt his ability and judgment. Siegfried realizes the young man whom he held so much affection for, needed more than advice and protection from him. (This multi-chapter Siegfried/Lancelot fiction is completed)
Relationships: Lancelot & Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy), Lancelot & Vane (Granblue Fantasy), Lancelot/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This multi-chapter Siegfried/Lancelot fiction is completed. 
> 
> Amazingly the uploaded was fast and thank you to my wonderful betas. Yes, there /is/ sexual content (just not overly smutty) but you'll have to work through the story to get to it. I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Lancelot and Siegfried, and all those whom they meet along the way in this story truly wrote themselves as the story progressed. 
> 
> NB:I will be writing a series of side stories based on some incidents and thoughts in Metamorphosis (ahem erotica promised definitely). These can be read as stand-alone as well.  
> NBB : There is a sequel planned for Metamorphosis in the works. 
> 
> Hope all will be well-received!

The sky _broke_.

Dust fell first, scattering in puffy clouds over the capital city. The citizens thought nothing of the phenomenon and went about their daily lives. Then, some suffered coughing fits and fevers. The doctors were kept busy and the lines outside the local clinics and hospital soon grew long. Seven days later, half an island fell. It crashed in the middle of a residential square, destroying the estate’s water fountain and sending tremors throughout the estate. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was in the middle of the night and most were asleep except for one drunk nobleman who passed out against the fountain. The quake that followed woke up those in the houses closest to the fountain and they ventured out in fright. The body of the dead noble, recognized only by his shoe as the only son of a well-known lord, was completely crushed. A knight patrol was called and the dead man was taken away to the Order’s headquarters.

It was not long before tales of the sky falling and that a demon cursed the Kingdom flooded every single bar and pub in the capital. And it did not take more than that morning for some of the nobles to be seen departing from the city on their private airships, out of Feendrache.

The Captain and his Vice-Captain were summoned to court the same morning the island fell. King Carl drummed his fingers on the edge of his throne, his brow wrinkled in a deep frown. His eyes fell upon the two men who walked in.

“What have you gathered from your investigation?” King Carl stood up, stepping away from this throne to approach the Captain. Lancelot pressed a hand against his chest and bowed towards his King. He shook his head and appeared pensive.

“We have found no significant evidence, your Majesty.” Lancelot gestured for Vane to come forward with a small container in his hands. Lancelot scooped out a few pieces of stone from the container and held them out for the King to inspect.

“This was chipped from the half that fell down, your Majesty.”

Lancelot drew in a sharp breath. “Our geologists said there was nothing suspicious done to the structure of the island. Its other half is still afloat in the upper layer. Sir Lourdes suspected it could just be natural weathering.”

“He said that?” King Carl waved one of his guards to retrieve the container from Vane. He gestured strongly towards the exit of the throne room and waved the guard off. “Bring this to my study and tell Simon Lourdes to report to me in the evening.”

“Your Majesty…” Lancelot glanced at his King as he now stood at attention. Vane, however, seemed extremely anxious, his feet fidgeting, his shoulders limp like a child waiting to be reprimanded.

Lancelot drew in a deep breath.

“Your Majesty, what are your orders?”

“An island _does not just_ fall from the skies, Captain Lancelot.”

Lancelot’s blue eyes blinked rapidly. King Carl returned to his throne and sat down heavily. He rubbed his temples with one hand, shaking his head grimly.

“Find out what happened. And wait for my next order. There is something I need you to do.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The Captain responded at once, pressing his hand once more upon his chest. “For the righteous glory of Feendrache.”

King Carl watched the two young men retreat from his throne room. It did not escape his notice that the Vice-Captain seemed flustered. He shook his head once more, dark thoughts welling in his mind. That was no longer important. There will be more to worry and fear than just a few renegade monsters and injured men.

Or dead men.

The King laid his forehead to rest on an upturned palm, muttering to himself.

“For the righteous glory of Feendrache… indeed. I hope you will be right, Captain Lancelot.”


	2. Orders of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A failed expedition returns to the Order and Lancelot struggles to face yet another death on his command and suggestions of betrayal within the knights. The final orders from King Carl arrive. To distract himself, Lancelot begins with his investigation. He discovers a letter from Siegfried which he had forgotten about.

Lancelot stood completely still. 

The sight he beheld was not what he expected.

“Captain!”

Vane’s grip circled his arm firmly and hoarsely whispered under his breath, “Lan-chan?”

Lancelot pushed Vane’s hand away from his arm, his face flushing darkly. There was a visible clench of his jaw as he kept very quiet. He glanced across the knights in the hall. Half of them were injured, many bearing flesh lacerations though some were more seriously injured than others. The two on the ground, one the expedition leader and the other his vice-leader, suffered severe blistering burns to their faces and their upper bodies. The smell of burnt flesh, mixed with low painful groans suffused the air as the Order’s healers tried to alleviate the wounded’s agony.

Lancelot crouched down next to the comatose expedition leader, his lips pressing into a thin, tight line as he checked the young man’s breathing. Half of the youth’s face was burned, though it seemed, the healer at his side whispered in relief, his left eye could still be saved. But his vice-leader though, the woman shook her head, a soft prayer slipping from her thin lips.

“Who can report?” Lancelot stood up, addressing the injured knights.

“Captain…” A hand with blackened fingers raised unsteadily. A young knight hobbled forward towards Lancelot as he clutched a bloodied wad of bandages to an ugly gash on his cheek. “Captain, I can report.”

“Speak, Ywain.” 

“We found the salamander queen northeast of her nest… and we shot the sleeping arrows at her.” The young knight gulped as now his Captain’s sight was fixed upon him. “We… we… begin to flood the nest with ice…after checking that she was asleep...”

“The moment we finished…she…she was behind us!” 

“Captain, the arrows… the arrows. She never slept. Vice-Leader Bern tried to stop the queen but… she was...too strong…” Ywain convulsed, his voice strangled, as he turned his head weakly to stare at the rest of the knights.

“Someone knows of the sleeping arrows…. Someone tampered with them!”

“Quiet!” Lancelot glared icily at the young knight who balked and cowered down, the wad of bloodied bandages falling onto the floor. The other knights huddled behind, disbelief spreading over their stunned faces.

“Not a single one of you,” He swept his arm across the chamber, gesturing at each of the knights, “is to suspect each other.” 

“I will find out what happened. You will not speak more of this.”

“Captain!”

Vane strode forward and griped Lancelot’s arm tightly, so tight that he was not able to shake the former’s hand away. The blonde man’s voice wavered worriedly. 

“Lan-chan, let them rest. The healers said the others are in no mortal danger and they will live.”

The Captain drew in a shallow breath and allowed Vane to take him aside. The lead healer bowed to Lancelot and Vane, her hands clutching tightly at her bloodstained and blackened apron.

“I will send the report of the wounded to you later in the evening, Captain. We will also seek out Sir Bern’s family...”

Lancelot nodded mutely. Before leaving the chamber, he took one last look at the single body covered with a bloodied sheet, at his injured men and at young Ywain who was huddling to himself near the wall. The young knight flinched and backed a step, his eyes narrowing in confusion and uncertainty at his Captain, his bruised lips parting in a silent question. Lancelot’s eyes blinked and they widened in mute disbelief at Ywain, his jaw twitching. With heavy steps, he left the hall immediately, breaking into an angry stride the moment he was in the hallway.

“Lan-chan!”

“Lan-chan stop!” Vane lurched forward, nearly tripping though he managed to put a grip on his friend’s shoulder. “Just stop. It’s no one’s fault. Stop blaming yourself.”

Lancelot swung around. His eyes lowered towards the hand clutching at his shoulder and his head lifted as he glowered at the panting Vane.

“Vice-Captain. How many incidents happened this month?”

Vane gulped, his throat twitching. 

“Four, Lan-chan.” 

“How many of our men are injured?”

“Twenty-eight, Lan-chan.”

How many died?”

“Three…”

“Take away your hand.”

“But, Lan-chan…”

“Take away your hand!”

“Lan-chan…”

“Do not...” Lancelot’s blue eyes grew bright in their piercing stare at the blonde man and his hand lifted, pushing Vane’s hand roughly away. 

“...make me repeat myself, Vice-Captain.”

“Lan-chan…” Vane blanched, retreating a little, widening his arms and putting his hands up in a defenseless gesture. “No one knew the arrows didn’t work. I tested one myself before the expedition left. If you want to blame anyone, it’s my fault.”

The flurry of explanations left no change in Lancelot’s icy expression.

“I don’t think any of the knights would betray the Order…” 

Vane swallowed hard, trying to offer some words of comfort and was met with Lancelot’s departing back. Choking back the rest of his words, the Vice-Captain punched a fist into his palm wordlessly before following him, his shoulders drooping in defeat, down the hallway for a very long walk. Vane felt as if he was circling the Headquarters and the man he was trailing after, was so far away. A glance at the long shadows sliding into the hallway through the windows indicated the lateness of the afternoon. Outside Lancelot’s office, a tall man waited. He was garbed in the livery of the King’s guards. 

Vane frowned. He did not seem to remember this particular guard. 

“Captain Lancelot.” The man nodded as the knight drew near, pressing a hand to his chest in a short bow before presenting a flat package of documents to the Captain. “I bring the King’s next order and the information you requested.”

“Are there any more instructions?” He asked tersely, looking at the plain package and not at the man.

“His Majesty said you should leave before the winter starts.” The man raised a hand to gesticulate at the package now in Lancelot’s hands.

“Before winter?”

“Yes, Captain Lancelot. Before winter.”

The guard smiled briefly, bowed and left them. Vane turned to stare at the tall man, his eyes narrowing. The man’s features perturbed him and he could not get a grasp on who exactly this guard was. Concern for his friend soon replaced that perplexing thought. 

“Lan-chan, do you want to eat dinner? How about your favorite fish? I can make it with lemon butter sauce...” 

“No.” Lancelot pushed the door to his office open. 

“Lan-chan…”

“Vane.” Lancelot stood still, his hand trembling on the door handle. “I have work to do. If you are hungry, you can have your dinner in the mess.” 

“I can’t leave you alone, Lan-chan.”

Biting his lip with his head bowed low, Lancelot replied hoarsely, “Fine. Go to the kitchen, bring some bread and ham.” 

“Bread, ham. Alright!” Vane seemingly brightened and left for the Order’s kitchen.

Lancelot watched Vane leave, his hand moving to cover his mouth, fingers clutching at his face, his shoulders hunching upwards. 

“ _I’m sorry, Vane..._ ”

The apology fell off his lips involuntarily to nowhere and he felt wetness touch the corner of his eye. Lancelot shook his head. The lack of sleep must be affecting him. 

Now he needed to read what was in the package.

Vane returned just as quickly with the bread and ham. But he forgot about the tea. Now, he sat at the office’s large meeting table, his hands clutching a half-eaten sandwich as he watched Lancelot spread out the documents across the table. His friend seemed calmer now as he quietly studied the notes in his hands.

Then, a deep frown furrowed its way across the Captain’s forehead as he checked one of the new pages. Vane chewed on his bread, a little dismayed that it was too quiet. As he read through the documents again, Lancelot’s frown grew deeper.

“This is more difficult than I thought.” The Captain’s hand palmed down on the piece of paper nearest to him. Vane pulled the sandwich out of his mouth immediately, delighted that Lancelot decided to start a conversation.

“What’s more difficult, Lan-chan?”

“Vane, do you remember that dust clouds that happened before the island fell?”

Lancelot’s finger crooked and tapped on a few lines written on that piece of paper, his head tilted in thought. Vane leaned forward to attempt to read the document from his angle.

“What about those clouds, Lan-chan?”

“I’ve asked for a climate report from the capital’s meteorologists three days ago.” Lancelot turned the document right-side-up towards Vane who was twisting his neck to read it. “There were no signs of any changes in the weather last week nor were there predictions of weather changes.”

“Someone made those clouds?” Vane propped his chin up with his fists as he read, with much difficulty, the string of technical jargon on the weather report. 

“Yes.”

“Then, someone threw the island!” Vane straightened up, leaping to his feet before exclaiming.

“No.”

Lancelot pulled the weather report away in exasperation. Vane’s bright smile faltered and he sunk back down into the chair. Scratching a little at his nose, the Vice-Captain appeared rather disappointed at his deductive abilities. He remembered his half-eaten sandwich and scooped it up, stuffing the remainder into his mouth. A crumb slipped out unnoticed from his mouth, a result of hasty swallowing.

“An island can’t just fall from the sky, Lan-chan. And...” The blonde man held his breath, parroting the King’s words and perhaps, trying his best to think. He folded his arms and stared at the spread of papers across the meeting table, his eyes distractedly picking out a breadcrumb nestled between two documents.

“And?” 

Lancelot turned away to his desk to attempt to find a quill so he could start marking the connections in his mind. He pinched his forehead and blinked at the mess in front of him, quite sure that he had tidied it yesterday. Or was it the day before? 

The Captain arched his back to reach over an untidy stack of books to grab a quill, knocking over a box of letters in the process.

“Ah…” He let out a sound involuntarily, watching the box topple over. Lancelot sucked in a breath and crouched down, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation and picking up the fallen letters.

“I’m going to bed.” Vane stood up from his chair and stretched, yawning loudly. He scrubbed one sleepy eye with a knuckle and peered over his friend kneeling on the floor.

“You alright there, Lan-chan?”

Lancelot waved his Vice-Captain away with a quick gesture as his other hand paused just above an unopened letter, the words ‘Captain, Order of the White Dragons’’ written across it in familiar handwriting. 

“Just go, Vane. Sleep earlier. You’ve been up since last night.”

His Vice-Captain winced a little. He was reluctant but maybe he thought, it was difficult for Lancelot to tell him that he just wanted to be alone. 

“I’ll see you three days later, Lan-chan.”

We are going on an expedition to the south tomorrow.”

There was no reply to both his statements. Vane scratched the back of his head. 

“I’ll leave the bread and ham here, alright?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Vane.”

Lancelot replied carelessly.

Vane’s mouth drooped. He shook his head, gulping back another reminder. Too engrossed to hear the faraway thud of his closing office door, Lancelot picked up the letter. He pulled himself to a leaning position against his desk, staring at the envelope in his hands.

_When was this letter sent?_

A thought fled his mind as he opened the envelope, sliding one single sheet of paper out. There were just a few lines of handwriting in broad, firm strokes upon the sheet, the penmanship of the writer steady and strong. Each sentence was brief and clear, a short report of what he did, where he went and when he will be back. 

Tomorrow. A tingling sensation swept through his fingertips and his hands trembled briefly. He could not remember when he received the letter or who delivered it. He held onto it for a while, forgetting to breathe as he fumbled shamefully in his mind to try to remember. Lancelot recalled nothing, and the guilt of forgetting did little to bring any form of relief.

Despite that, he was returning tomorrow.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the leg of the desk. It was a while before his breaths grew steady and he was calm to stand. Lancelot mechanically folded the letter back into its original envelope and placed it aside upon a stack of books, completely forgetting about the rest of the letters strewn on the ground. 

He returned to the investigation work laid out on the meeting table, stepping on a couple of the fallen letters. Apart from the reports he had requested, there was also a summary from the scouts following the Burgundy rebels gathering near the Nalhegrande border. Lancelot clicked his tongue against his teeth softly as he looked through the reports. All the accounts correlated with each other. The rebels were attempting to re-organize in Silverwind Stretch. He recalled little of the Stretch and remembered less of its detailed geography. But from an earlier expedition, he knew that there was an intricate cavern network beneath the Eoniho Mountains - a perfect place for rebel fugitives. 

He clutched the last page of the report, his eyes hovering upon the last three lines; an order from his King - a solo expedition to Silverwind Stretch to find a man named Lucan Ansel.

A disgraced noble, Ansel was a leader of the first rebellion quelled by the Order of the Black Dragons years ago. Brilliant in his research, and one of the few who knew of the Primal Beasts, he created prototypes from the most meager of resources and designed some of the current airships the knights were still using till now.

As he scribbled names and landmarks on a map provided in the same package, in an attempt to chart a temporary course across Northern Phantagrande, Lancelot tried to recall what other information he owned about Lucan Ansel. The rebel leader lost an arm in the conflict and was severely injured but he managed to escape the Black Dragons. Ansel’s last sighting was a year ago in the Auguste Isles and there were no more reports. 

The man simply vanished. 

The only valid reason, the Captain surmised, why the King wanted Ansel captured could be to do with the island that fell from the sky last week. He stopped marking the map and stared at it for a moment, watching shafts of dark yellow elongate and cut across the meeting table. He turned, looking at the row of open windows behind him, cupping his palm against his forehead to shield his eyes from the setting sun. Then, he remembered tomorrow will be here in just a few hours later. 

Absently licking his lower lip in thought, the Captain gathered his documents slowly back into the package. Falling into his chair at his desk, he locked the package away in the desk’s drawer. He should get dinner but yet he was not hungry. Lancelot hunched over his desk, his sight falling upon the envelope he left there on the journal stack. He took it up, gripping the edge of the envelope, turning it in his sight and watched the orange afterglow of dusk dance across its surface. There was so much he wanted to tell the man who was returning and yet, right now, his head was blank.

As his fingers clutched at the envelope tightly, Lancelot pillowed his head down on folded arms. His eyes lidded down slowly and he turned a little in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. There was a growing heaviness in his head as the desire to rest crept into his tired mind. He dragged both chair and body forward, almost hugging the edge of his table as now the envelope was brought into the embrace of his arms. Lancelot stifled a small yawn before drifting off into sleep, his cheek resting against Siegfried’s letter.


	3. What a Knight should be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot dreams of Isabella. To feel better, he goes to the Order's training grounds to practice. Lancelot struggles with his own feelings after speaking with Siegfried, discovering his respect and liking for Siegfried hides a desire deeper and darker.

He was surrounded by darkness.

Icy water dripped from above, falling onto his head and neck. He tried to pull himself up and slipped, falling backward, letting out a loud cry. A sharp pain sliced through his shoulders and he eventually realized he was chained against the wall and thick iron bands locked around his wrists. There was a coldness on his cheek. It was not water. It was a woman’s hand. Lancelot startled, pulling at the chains that imprisoned him.

Isabella’s nails dug into his flesh, scratching a bloody trail down his cheek towards his jaw. 

“Lancelot...” 

She called sweetly, enunciating each syllable of his name and curling her thin body against his, her arms wrapping in a serpentine motion around his neck. 

“My Lancelot. Did you miss me?” Isabella pushed her fingers against the wounds on his face, forcing blood to trickle down his jaw. He flinched. The madwoman let out a sharp peal of laughter, delighted at the crimson stain welling against her fingertips. 

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time.” Isabella pressed herself against him, the long locks of her dark hair tumbling about him, placing her painted mouth next to his ear as she mockingly shrilled. Lancelot turned his head away in disgust as she crept closer, twining her fingers into his hair lovingly. 

“How does it feel to keep failing? To become so useless! To fail all your men who put all their trust into you. To fail that fool of a King!”

Angered, he stared at her, a growl issuing low in his throat. “I did not fail.”

She squealed sharply at his furious reply, rearing upright to slap him across his bloodied face and leaned forward, her tongue slipping out from parted lips to lick his cheek. He immediately recoiled, shuddering as the iron chains shackling him clanged in jarring unison at his desperate movements. The madwoman laughed at his feeble attempts to pull away. Her fingers gripped his hair tightly, yanking his head upwards to face her. Breathing shallowly, Isabella’s bloodied lips parting into a lascivious smile down at him, her purple eyes filled with pity. Lancelot froze as he stared up at her. 

“Of course you will fail. They will all betray you, one by one.” She crooned gently now, arching her body over the knight, her hands loosening their hold and stroking his hair. She tilted her head to him, her lips caressing the wounds on his face. 

“Stay with me, my Lancelot, I will never betray you.” 

He growled and spat in her face.

“To hell with you, Isabella.”

Her eyes glowed insanely bright and a tremendous shriek erupted from her mouth. The flesh of her face shifting rapidly, contorting into a maddened, drooling maw of sharp teeth. Isabella arched upwards with another scream. 

She lunged down, tearing dementedly away at his throat.

Lancelot bolted upright on his chair, exhaling forcefully, his chest heaving rapidly in huge breaths. He palmed across his sweating forehead, eyes adjusting to the darkness around him. There were no chains on his wrists nor was there the delirious laughter of Isabella in his ear. His hands went involuntarily to touch his throat before he pressed palms upon the familiar worn woodwork of his office desk, trying to calm himself. 

For how long was he asleep? He glanced at the letter clutched in his hand, forcefully crumpled. Lancelot leaned into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and violently shook his head once to get rid of the haziness. He needed fresh air. 

Pulling himself up, he dragged on a cloak and took his shortswords off the weapons rack.

The Order’s training grounds were a short walk from his office and reached in no time. The crescent moon provided barely sufficient light, dousing the grounds in a mottled gray. He did not need more illumination to do what he wished however and perhaps the semi-darkness was comforting than his dream. He undid his cloak and dropped it on the ground. Hefting his unsheathed swords in his hands, he swung both blades in slow circles as he strode through the field towards the middle of the grounds. Easing himself in a familiar practice routine, Lancelot drew in quick breaths, his blades dancing in a cycle of feints, stabs and lunges, his feet scraping across the ground before coming to a forceful stop.

Sweat beaded down his forehead and he panted. Suddenly he paused, tilting his head to the shadowy expanse of the ground, his chest heaving rapidly from exertion. 

Immediately, his fingers tightened around the hilts of his swords.

Someone was here with him. His feet shifted silently as he backed towards the edge of the field, his blades turned outwards cautiously. Should he be ambushed, he will still be able to swiftly aim a deadly blow to the assailant’s stomach. Lowering his body, Lancelot stilled his breathing, listening guardedly for a whisper or a tell-tale sound. He continued to retreat, eyes completely focused in front of him.

Then, the metallic hum of a broadsword sang harshly through the air.

Right next to him.

Lancelot let out a surprised shout. He bent quickly, rolling sharply to his side. Pulling himself up into a crouch just as quickly, he swung one sword forcefully outwards, its blade clashing with the broadsword’s curved back. The tremendous pressure of the larger weapon pushed him back further, knocking his left sword out of his hand. Losing his balance, the Captain pivoted on his heel clumsily. His remaining sword fell out of his grip, and his empty hands flailed out to slam onto the grass, breaking his fall.

“Stop!” Lancelot yelled as he sat there on the ground, legs splayed apart, shoulders heaving. He panted deeply, trying to draw breaths, the chill night air dry and biting in his lungs. 

“Did I not say before, Lancelot…”

The broadsword slammed into the ground between Lancelot’s legs as a very tall, very familiar figure, dappled in gray moonlight, came into his sight. A pair of hands, gloved in metallic dragon claws, came to rest on top of each other slowly on the pommel of the broadsword.

Siegfried smiled wryly down at the younger man.

“If there was hesitation in your blade, then you will die here.”

“Then I’ll die right here. Plain and simple,” Lancelot muttered, shaking his head dourly. He brought his knees up, resting his arms on them and peered upwards at Siegfried, his expression irritated from the reminder. The tall man was dressed in usual plain dark blue armored garb, with a broad leather belt circling his waist and a pair of worn pants, both that and the multi-layered cloak about him, frayed and travel-stained.

“Aren’t you supposed to return tomorrow, Siegfried-san?”

“It is tomorrow.” The older man chuckled, tapping a finger on his sword’s pommel. “And aren’t you supposed to be in bed right now, Lancelot?”

“I slept,” Lancelot replied sharply, still annoyed for being made a fool. Pulling his legs away from the edge of the broadsword, he got up, brushing bits of grass and dirt from his greaves.

“And I don’t need more sleep.” He added curtly as he collected his fallen blades. 

Siegfried pulled up the broadsword and strapped it to his back. He folded his arms tight against his chest, quietly watching the Captain clean the dirt off his weapons. He crooked his head aside, observing the sullen expression of the younger man before him. Siegfried undid one of his gloves and his bare hand moved to rest firmly on Lancelot’s shoulder. His fingers inched upwards, past the Captain’s shoulder blades, pressing against Lancelot’s taut nape and he frowned gently. 

“Let’s talk inside, Lancelot.”  
  
Lancelot’s head snapped up at the light insistence of the hand on his shoulder. 

“Why do we need to talk?” He raised his voice gratingly, yet did not attempt to shrug off that hand. The warmth of Siegfried’s fingers felt shamefully comforting. Swallowing hard, he sheathed his shortswords and moved his shoulder away from Siegfried’s grip.

The taller man just waited in silence, knowing perhaps the Captain will have more to say.

Lancelot’s lips twitched.

“We can have a cup of tea then.” He muttered under his breath, taking a few steps ahead to move past the taller man. “You’ve been traveling the whole night. A cup of tea would be… good.”

Siegfried laughed a little, the quietness of the laugh rumbling in his throat. He turned to follow the Captain, his hand moving to rub the sore muscles behind his neck. “I’d like a cup of tea right now then. Where shall we have it?”

“My office.” Lancelot stopped, turning his head over a shoulder to glance at Siegfried, and continued to speak absently, “Vane has left for an expedition so...”

“Let us go.” Siegfried interrupted, latching his glove back on his hand and took a few strides forward to stand beside Lancelot, gesturing towards the large stone building ahead. “It is very late, and it is getting cold.” 

Lancelot’s lips twitched. Nodding soundlessly, he picked up his cloak from the ground and started in the direction of the Order’s main building. He walked with hurried steps, feeling his chest tighten each time he stepped upon the moving shadows of the man next to him. Siegfried kept an easy pace alongside, glancing sideways occasionally at Lancelot’s grim expression, at the mess of black hair that framed his profile, making his face all too pale in the semi-darkness.

Lancelot, however, pretended not to notice Siegfried’s glances and his chin lowered even further, averting his face each time he thought the latter was watching him. They met not a single guard nor knight along the dark hallway to Lancelot’s office. Not even the night’s patrol. Lancelot glanced behind him and across the hallway, paying attention at each junction they passed. Unsure of how late it was, a nagging thought still crept into Lancelot’s mind, a remnant of yesterday’s confrontation with his knights, as they approached his office’s closed doors. He yanked on the door handle roughly. 

“It’s about an hour to dawn.”

“What?” The door held ajar, Lancelot stared at Siegfried, his eyebrows lifting at the sudden comment. 

“The last patrol returned to their quarters five minutes ago.”

“Did you learn some magic in the northern villages to read my mind?” Lancelot stared at Siegfried as they both entered the office. 

“If reading your mind can be made easier with that, I would learn that magic.” Siegfried chuckled, unclasping the buckles of the straps that bound the broadsword to his body. The weapon was rested against the edge of the round meeting table and he pulled up a chair to make himself comfortable. That remark stupefied Lancelot for a moment and he felt a heat flush upwards his neck. 

Turning away without a reply, he busied himself with the lights in the office and then, finally returned with an oil wick lamp and a ceramic burner with a silver kettle resting on top for their tea. A pair of wooden mugs followed, and a canister of plain black tea was popped open.

He barely remembered Vane did leave some bread and ham much earlier in the afternoon and guiltily made a mental note to have it disposed of and told himself he should try to have lunch with Vane when the latter returned from his expedition.

“I did not read your mind,” Siegfried assured, folding his arms against his chest again as he leaned back into the chair, watching the Captain silently spoon tea leaves into both mugs. 

“And your night patrol… hmm.” He looked thoughtful. “We just missed them at the last hallway junction. They made a very quick turn,” Siegfried shifted in his seat, loosening his arms to rest elbows on his knees, his eyes watching Lancelot’s hands. 

“You were looking elsewhere.”

Lancelot clenched his jaw and kept quiet. The water boiled, letting out a chattering wail. He pulled the kettle from the burner, concentrating on pouring hot water into the mugs. He handed the first mug to Siegfried and now Lancelot sat down as well, adjacent to the older man, his hands wrapped around his mug.

He drew in a breath.

“What happened?” Siegfried placed his mug onto the table, dragged his chair forward, sitting closer to the Captain. With an intentional slowness, he unbuckled his gloves, setting the claws next to the mug. Lancelot stared down at the tea in his mug. A few dark leaves floated to the surface, turning haltingly with each ripple caused by his trembling fingers. 

“I messed up.” He gripped his mug tightly, his knuckles tightening beneath his gloves. “I’ve gotten people injured. Killed.”

Siegfried tilted his head to the side, and a slow nod followed. 

“Every recent expedition failed badly.” Lancelot’s lips drew back in a tight pinch as he sat up, leaving the undrunk mug of tea onto the table. His hands fisted on his knees and his voice grew thick.

“I planned each route, each briefing, selected the knights myself, even inspected all their weapons.” Lancelot’s eyes widened, turning his head upwards to look straight at Siegfried. His stare was empty, a haunting glaze of blue and gray. His hands spread before him, his sight lowered shifting onto the open palms. “I did all that you taught me, Siegfried-san… I tried to look after my men. I tried.” 

“You tried your best.” 

Those four words were offered with solemn pride, not merciful pity and Siegfried’s hand clasped Lancelot’s shoulder, urging the most gentle of persuasions for him to sit up. “Look at me, Lancelot.”

“You tried. You tried to look after them. You’ve done all you could but you’ll encounter many defeats. That said, you must never be disheartened.” Siegfried’s other hand reached out, now both held the Captain’s shoulders. 

“Defeat is a necessity for us knights, Lancelot. Only then would you be humbled by it, and so you can know who you are, what you can become from it and how you will rise above it all.”

The older man tightened his hold on the Captain who sat as still as stone, his fingers moving to cup Lancelot’s neck, his upturned palms lightly tilting the younger man’s jaw towards him, “When I served King Josef, I thought I was obligated to win every fight.”

“And I fought, but at what cost?” Siegfried closed his eyes, a wan smile at his lips’ edge. “I was not obligated to win. But I was to keep trying, to try to be my best every day.”

“That was what his Majesty wanted of me.”

Siegfried’s eyes re-opened, searching Lancelot’s blank face. His hands moved back, his fingers slowly stroking the back of the younger man’s head now, pushing down those wayward dark strands of hair. 

“That is what I want of you as well, Lancelot.” 

“I am not concerned that you have fallen today or yesterday.”

His hands paused their ministrations, his voice deepening gravely. 

“I am more concerned that you rise from this.”

Lancelot’s shoulders wavered slightly, he growing quieter and quieter as Siegfried spoke. A throbbing sensation spiraled its way from his stomach to his chest and his awareness responded to the back of his head, to the comforting fingers impressing upon his feverish skin. His eyelids shuddering downwards, his mind wanting to fall into rest and yet his body yearned for a little more than a touch.

“Lancelot?”

He snapped back to the present, jolting upright, reddened eyes focusing on Siegfried as he was called back. Those strong hands now moved to his arms and he was pulled up to his feet.

“You should sleep. Come, to bed with you.”

He should sleep! The younger man nodded in complete compliance, allowing himself to be walked out of his office towards his bedroom. Siegfried smiled wryly to himself - Lancelot’s frenzied admissions tonight reminded him a little of a long time ago; of what Josef had said to him. Something about the subtleties of the heart.

The Captain’s bedroom was not too far away from his office. Familiar chaos greeted them as the door was opened, a soft ‘tch’ releasing from Siegfried as he navigated across the floor, over heaps of clothes and books. Realizing they were in his bedroom and that bedroom was not cleaned for days, Lancelot stopped in his steps, an embarrassed sound slipping from his mouth on hearing that small sound of displeasure from his mentor. He turned around, placing his hands on the older man’s chest, stopping him from moving further forward.

“Siegfried-san, you should go get some rest yourself. I can get to bed on my own.”

Lancelot coughed a little, kicking away a heap of shirts behind him. He nudged his palms against Siegfried insistently, trying a bit more force, feeling the hardness of the man’s chest muscles beneath his hands. Siegfried did not budge.

“It’s a mess in here...” Lancelot muttered, voice faltering.

“That’s the least of my concerns.” 

Siegfried made another low sound in his throat and he did not argue further. He eased Lancelot’s anxious hands away from his body, his brow lifting questionably at how oddly warm the Captain’s hands was to his touch.

“I’ll see to the injured knights later this morning.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder and left, agilely avoiding another heap of clothes despite the dim light in the room. 

Lancelot breathed in deeply, watching Siegfried depart. He sighed and fell heavily to sit on his bed, unbuckling his chest plate and boots in sluggish motion, pulling the pieces off. Divested of armor and clad only in his inner shirt and long black pants, he collapsed back on the messy sheets of his bed. Seemingly awake, he stared up at the ceiling of the room, a thousand more thoughts drifting through his mind, face flushing at the memory of those touches earlier from his mentor.

A heated shame rose, digging into his belly. 

The Captain turned his head, warily eyeing his bedroom door for a moment. He breathed, feeling air sink into his lungs and he shifted his body up a little, angling it away from the door. His eyes blinked and they closed, reluctantly allowing a hazy fantasy enter the flimsy darkness beneath his eyelids. His neck felt hot as he moved to push down his pants, his hands slipping downwards to soothe the arousal between his legs. With each stroke, his back curled, his body twisting from tiny, pleasurable surges. 

His hands continued grip and rub hungrily at his erection, suddenly aware of how roughly pleasant his fingers felt on thin, sensitive skin. Then, he sucked in a mouthful of air, exhaling in one long gasp as his body arched inwards in orgasm. Panting, Lancelot pushed his face and mouth deep into the pillows, his lips parting to cry Siegfried’s name.

It was after some time he finally roused from his consumed state and he flipped to his back, his breathing slowing down. Lancelot barely took another look at his closed bedroom door and stared up, the previously warm wetness that trailed down his fingers and palms turning sticky on his skin. He should get up, clean himself, put away his armor and go properly to bed.

Daybreak, with its pale roses and bronzes, and a feathery cold wind, slipped through the half-open windows of his bedroom, the dawn falling in patches slowly now across his sight. Yet he continued to lie there, watching the light shift and dance across his ceiling. A thought passed absently through his mind. Autumn will come and go very soon, and then it will be winter.

And before he had to leave, he will confess.


	4. Conundrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried insists Lancelot accompany him on a trip. Little do they know that it might just cost them their lives.

“Lancelot.”

The Captain pulled his pillow over his face, trying to curl into the warmth of his bed. A mumbled string of nonsense drifted from his lips and he dug himself deeper into the blankets.

“Lancelot.”

A deep voice floated over him and a hand moved to move the pillow away, exposing the younger man’s face to the sunlight streaming in from open windows. Lancelot groaned, trying to shy his face away from the brightness. He dragged himself to a sitting position, knuckling his eyes a little, before raising his head to look blearily at the tall man at his bedside.

“I’ve visited your men this morning and I talked with this boy, Ywain.” Siegfried sat down, the bed heaving a little beneath his weight. His eyebrows drew together for a moment at Lancelot’s messy hair and disarrayed clothing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he rubbed his lips in thought. 

“He wanted to leave and return to his village,” Siegfried spoke carefully, moving his hands back to rest on his knees. Not elaborating, he continued to observe Lancelot’s expression.

The younger man seemed to be staring at his hands for a long moment before he appeared satisfied and moved the blankets off his legs, pushing himself off the bed. His feet felt cold and bare on the stone ground. Shivering, Lancelot pulled the crumpled shirt from his body and tried to find something thick from the heap of shirts and jackets on the cabinet nearest the row of windows.

“Why did he want to go home?” Lancelot turned, dragging a woolen shirt over his torso, his fingers moving to drag the too-large garment over his waist and hips. He leaned against the windowsill, pulling his arms into a fold on his chest, his expression confused. 

“He did not do anything wrong.” Lancelot’s lips thin pensively.

“He thought he did.” Siegfried rose from the bed, crossing a few short strides to where Lancelot was and stood before him. 

“He thought he…?” 

“And there’s something I must confess, Captain.” Siegfried interrupted, holding up a hand.

Lancelot frowned, holding back his question, his folded arms tightening on his chest.

“I’ve asked all the knights and recruits to take a rest for the next few days,” 

“And I‘ve requested his Majesty for a short holiday with you.”

Lancelot looked blankly at the taller man, his jaw slack, mouth agape with barely concealed bewilderment.

Siegfried lifted his head, glancing beyond Lancelot’s shoulder and at the empty training grounds below. A light noon wind settled in from the grounds, catching a few strands of Siegfried’s hair and blowing capriciously at Lancelot’s head, tousling the dark curls at his neck, tickling him. He blinked, fingers moving to clutch his neck rubbing at the itch absently. 

A holiday?

His mentor’s ways sometimes befuddled him. Not in a poor way. Just not quite predictable. Lancelot was not used to surprises.

“There’s no need for you to apologize…” He muttered.

“Indeed then.” Siegfried shifted forward and turned, resting his back and elbows against the windowsill. He laced his fingers in front of him slowly, his thumbs circling each other and took one more look at the Captain next to him.

“Lancelot?”

“Hmm?” He arched his neck upwards to the sound of his name. 

“Shall we go somewhere then?” His tawny sights, lit with genuine cheer, met the younger man’s widening blue eyes. 

“Where to?” Lancelot knitted his eyebrows together at the proposition, his body suddenly stiffening and his voice rose a slight pitch.

“Wait, Siegfried-san. Did His Majesty give an order to go on an expedition?”

“His Majesty has departed for the Kingdom of Wales this morning.” The taller man adjusted his position, moving to crook an elbow against the windowsill now, facing Lancelot. “And he gave no order. We are not going on an expedition. We are going on holiday.”

Siegfried reached out a hand and patted Lancelot’s shoulder. Then he paused, hand resting there and then his fingers gripped the woolen fabric of the latter’s shirt. “This is not enough. Get some proper warm clothes. We will be riding out to the northern villages.”

“But I must finish…” Lancelot’s voice rose in a feeble attempt to protest, his hand moved to close fingers around Siegfried’s wrist to loosen the other man’s grip.

“The investigation on Lucan Ansel?” 

“How did you know?” His hand tightened on the former’s wrist, nails digging against the taller man’s skin. Was this not supposedly a secret? Questions lapped into Lancelot’s mind and his hand froze irresolutely in that grip, his eyes narrowed to peer at Siegfried, a cumbersome unease weighing down in his chest. 

“His Majesty told you… didn’t he?” Lancelot backed against the window, pulling his hand away. He gestured awkwardly, palms spread in helplessness.

“He did.” The taller man lifted his own hands and reached to take Lancelot’s, closing the Captain’s open palms. He held on for a moment, and let Lancelot’s hands go. 

“And I was told about what happened at the Southern Weir, and the salamanders’ nest.” 

“Did his Majesty tell you to…”

“No.” 

Interrupted once more, Lancelot clamped his mouth shut. Siegfried turned his head to focus on the horizon beyond, drawing in another breath to steady his voice before he addressed the Captain firmly, without taking a glance at him.

“I was only told of the circumstances.” 

Pulling himself away from the windows, Siegfried shook his head, his expression tightening. As he walked past Lancelot on his way out, he tapped the younger man on the shoulder once more, the touch a little more aloof, barely warm, uncomforting, and instructed:

“His Majesty allowed you to rest for three days. Get yourself ready. I’ll meet you at the stables.”

Lancelot wanted to ask Siegfried to wait so he would walk out with him. Yet the door was quick to close in his face, answering his imaginary intent with a taunting thud. He dug his fingers into his palms slowly, regretting the graceless manner he questioned his mentor. A slow-rising contempt heated his cheeks, and he felt uncomfortably hot. 

As he tried to manage his discomposure, Lancelot hurried to pick clothes on the cabinet, from his bed, the cupboard and found a deep blue coat hemmed with white leather in a garment chest. Was this all enough? He was not sure if he needed to pack a bag either. There was no mention of traveling to somewhere dangerous or fighting monsters. 

He hesitated momentarily over the pile of clothes and dropped the white sweater he had picked up. The garment chest containing his customary pieces of blue and gold-edged armor was opened instead, and Lancelot started to dress, locking the parts with belts and buckles over a tight-fitting wool inner shirt. He pulled a heavier cloak about his body, buckled his shortswords to his belts and left the bedroom.

The Order’s stables were filled with horses of the finest breeds the islands could offer - gentle and strong Phantagrande Goldens and Augustes Akhals with their sleek coats and trimmed tails. The knights used the Goldens both as riding horses and as draft carriers for this particularly large breed’s extraordinary stamina famous for long-distance travel and courier transport. The Akhals, with their slender muscular bodies and almond-shaped hooded eyes, were famed for speed. An very popular choice with the scouts, the beast was extremely intelligent, being able to sense and remember terrain and geography, at times even better than their masters. 

Siegfried was leading two Akhals, one dark with golden streaks down its rump and another pure white, out of the stables as Lancelot appeared up the path. Both horses were saddled and prepared and they stood calmly, flanking Siegfried, each creature as tall as he was. The white horse made a grinding sound with its teeth as Lancelot approached, lowering its muzzle towards the Captain. He reached out for it, stroking down the length of its head. 

Siegfried held out the reins of the white Akhal to Lancelot. Unsure of what else to say, apart from a clipped ‘thank you’, Lancelot heaved himself up onto the saddle. Siegfried pulled himself up on his steed, settling back onto the saddle and letting the animal adjust to his armored weight. 

It felt awkward not to talk so Lancelot attempted to make conversation.

“Siegfried-san, which part of the northern villages are we going to?” 

“The furthest one near to the highlands, which I did not visit the last round I was there.”

Siegfried answered immediately and turned the horse skillfully with a flick of the reins, urging the creature to a trot towards the gates. His mentor was dressed too protectively for a mere outing to the villages. Lancelot’s hands tightened over his horse’s reins, feeling unease. But he only nursed it silently, not daring to question and not wanting to receive the cold treatment from earlier. 

His eyes trailed down the recognizable bands of black metal overlapped and encased the broad expanse of his back, secured together by leather belts crisscrossing his chest and stomach. The Dragonslayer was tied to his back, the giant red broadsword wrapped up in old leather and dark blue linen. Completely armored except for a helm, the deep colors of his garments and armor merged with the dark blue coat of the horse he was upon.

Like a mysterious centaur. Lancelot fantasized a little in his mind and his lips twitched, trying not to smile. Suddenly he realized he was daydreaming and falling behind. Lancelot tapped at the reins of his horse, the animal quickening its steps to catch up to its partner. 

The Order’s peripheral grounds had paths that led away from the city and skirted the edges of the surrounding forests. Siegfried took a shortcut that veered from the main transport route, through a vast expanse of long-grassed meadows, the tips of these wild grasses already turned a dull yellow. As they continued to ride in silence, the wind picked up, whistling across the fields and past Lancelot’s ears, pulling at his hair and driving the autumn chill down his neck. The path ended at the edge of a forest, the trees bearing trunks of mottled white and gray, their leaves dappled more green than gold. The forest was not dense, the trees stood far from each other, offering more than enough space for the two riders to venture forth on their horses. 

The pair rode through the forest till the shadows grew long and deep brown, shafting over the leaf-filled forest floor. Lancelot raised his head, placing a palm to shield his eyes as he looked upwards. His lower back was sore. The route was unfamiliar to him and he had kept close to Siegfried’s horse for assurance. His mentor, however, looked only to the front, the few sounds from him were some grunts and utterances to the horse to avoid obstacles. Beyond that, there was no conversation between the two throughout the journey.

Lancelot shrugged inwardly and dropped his gaze, looking down at the swaying white mane of his horse and the steady clop-clop of its hooves on the dead leaves. The quietness rang in his ears, he felt a little breathless, his chest tight. 

“Lancelot!”

The sharp warning of the voice snapped him away from his ruminations. Lancelot’s eyes flew open and he fumbled with the reins, violently tugging them upwards to check his horse’s movements. He startled as the dark Akhal that Siegfried rode on galloped past him swiftly, its hooves churning up stones and dirt on the path.

Alarmed, he looked around quickly, realizing they were already out of the birch forest and on a dirt path flanked by two massive cliffs. 

Siegfried was standing in front of him, hands gripping his broadsword in a defensive stance. 

Lancelot leaped down from his horse, slapping its rump to send it running back to the Order’s headquarters. Drawing his shortswords forward, he eyed the taller man, his mouth forming a question.

“Wyverns.”

Siegfried warned in a low voice. He glanced behind his shoulder at Lancelot, his expression tight and grim. His free hand signaled with five fingers and made another hand sign at Lancelot. The Captain’s eyes widened, barely registering the dire circumstances they might have to face.

_Ten of them._

Up along the cliffs, a flock of mottled dark-green wyverns gathered, silently regarding the two men down in the valley. Their sharply curved talons scraped at the ground, their tails with black-barbed ends swung lazily to and fro. 

Lancelot inched forward, moving himself to Siegfried’s side, his body crouching. He stole quick looks at the beasts guarding the cliffs, and the one nearest to them twisted its neck, scales bristling and stared down at him with blood-red eyes, its reptilian irises unblinking. Clenching at the hilts of his swords, he glanced sideways to his mentor who had not moved from his position. 

Siegfried was waiting.

Abruptly, the tall man’s shoulder dipped, his muscles tightening. The broadsword’s blade turned outwards in a flash, the sharp curved edge cutting into the ground, gathering to it, visible swirls of magic and strength. At his blatant taunt, the wyverns reacted. A horrifying screech rang through the sky as the booming sounds of wings slapping air cut through Lancelot’s ears. The beasts leaped off their cliff perches towards Siegfried and Lancelot, their wings spread wide, their taloned claws kicking away stones and rocks, sending those in thundering avalanches down the sides of the cliffs.

Siegfried roared, his legs vaulting him upwards to a tremendous height, the magic he had called for earlier, surging together with him, gathering along the long sharp edge of his broadsword. In a forceful sweep, the broadsword collided against a shrieking wyvern, almost severing the creature’s neck into half. He landed firmly on the ground and leaped once more up, his movements so swift as he was fighting in mid-air. 

The wyvern’s tail slashed out, the blackened barb flailing against the man’s face and chest. Coils of stinging wind unleashing from the creature’s tail to strike at the unprotected parts of his body.

Ducking his head, Siegfried hefted the broadsword with both hands, the weapon arching menacingly in a killing trajectory at the screaming beast.

He brought the wyvern down in one powerful stroke, his sword impaling the beast right through its torso. Greenish blood spurted from the multiple wounds on the dead wyvern’s body as it slammed heavily into the ground, its weight and the impact of Siegfried’s attacks cracking the earth beneath. 

Fissures raced across the earth from where Siegfried stood, the multiple quakes sending consecutive booms through the air, cracking the ground’s surface. He pulled his bloodied sword from the wyvern’s heart in one single motion and stared coldly at the nine left hovering in the air. 

The rest of the flock flapped their wings, howling in discontent and anger at their mangled companion below.

Lancelot held his breath, fingers wrought in trepidation on the hilts of his weapons. Mists of very pale ice-blue surrounded his hands, encasing the blades he held in a magical gleam. He turned his head, shifting a slight glance at Siegfried, expecting not to find his mentor injured in any way. 

He balked a little.

There was a cut across Siegfried’s left cheek. Where the wyvern had slashed its tail against. Blood trickled down his skin, staining his jaw in patchy red. Despite the bloodlust surfacing in his eyes, Siegfried sounded calm, instructing Lancelot while keeping his sight on the wyverns above their heads.

“I’ll break through the front. Once they scatter,” Siegfried watched the creatures gather magical wind into their talons and wings. “Tear their wings, freeze them.”

The Captain nodded, pivoting down to draw his body into a vaulting position. He knew this strategy and it played well to Siegfried’s immense strength and control of the earth, and Lancelot’s distinctive celerity. His mentor’s body inclined forward, the broadsword’s tip dragging through the widening clefts in the ground.

Siegfried clamped clawed fingers around the sword’s hilt in a vise-like restraint, keeping the surge of earth energy within the blade as his eyes stoically observed the wyverns’ actions. 

“Forgive me.” He murmured and lunged forth.

Issuing a sharp growl, Siegfried heaved his sword above his head in a forceful stroke and charged, taunting the wyverns towards him. 

The creatures wailed, two of them swooping downwards one after the other, talons outstretched, ready to rip the man’s flesh to strips. Siegfried smashed into the wyvern right at the front, the impact of their bodies sending both beasts to a spiraling twist. Lancelot hurtled forward from behind his mentor, his blades slicing through each wyvern’s soft wing folds, ripping the wings into tatters and freezing the creatures’ flesh and skin.

Swiping at his jaw to flake off the crystals of frozen wyvern blood on his skin, Lancelot landed on the ground. The two wyverns fell from the sky, right after, in a loud thump, each body falling on top of each other. He panted, the heat of the battle bright in his blue eyes, as he sighted Siegfried driving his sword violently into each wyvern’s body, aiming for the hearts, putting each one to immediate death. 

The remaining wyverns hovered fearfully above, shrilling a vehement warning before their wings flapped furiously, the surviving flock taking up to the skies. 

_Was it over?_

Lancelot dared to speak as he rose from the ground, giving his blades a shake to rid it of bits of scale and skin. Siegfried did not retract his broadsword and he gripped it tight, his jaw clenching, his eyes no longer focused up at the departing wyverns.

The man’s tawny eyes were set straight in front. 

_Chimera._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, the names of the horses, Phantagrande Goldens and Akhal Augustes are part of my imagination. GBF lore does not mention much about the use of horses as mounts. The Akhal Auguste is borrowed from the name of a real horse - the Akhal-Teke, a Turkmen horse breed. They are reputed to have great speed and endurance, intelligence, and a distinctive metallic sheen on their coats.


	5. The Chimera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried and Lancelot face another crisis together - this time, a Chimera.

The monster leaped gracefully down the cliffs, its motions soundless, fluid like a silent stream. She folded her draconic wings close to her body, muscles rippling powerfully as she cocked her three heads at the men. The maw of the lion’s head was stained with reddish blood. Between her shoulder blades, a goat’s head sprung up, the great horns upon it gleamed wickedly. The chimera’s tail trailed lazily on the ground before it whipped upright, the giant serpent at its end hissing at Siegfried, its bi-forked tongue vibrating against its yellowed fangs.

Lancelot crept to Siegfried’s side, his eyes venturing to his mentor’s face. The blood on Siegfried’s cheek had dried and spread, a rusty webbing across his reddened skin. Lancelot knew as much that fire-breathing chimeras never ventured to this part of the lands, certainly never near to these cold mountain areas. He desperately tried to recall what else he was taught about these monsters. 

He had never encountered one, and only heard of them in tales, in books, and from Siegfried when he was still Captain of the Black Dragons. Perhaps even more alarming to Lancelot was the sour scent of rotting human blood now pungent in the air as the lion’s head yawned widely, swirling her barbed tongue across her mouth.

Siegfried’s jaw clenched again, the muscles of his neck twitching. Brute strength was not going to win them this battle, no matter how immensely strong he was. The chimera was a crafty creature and she could see from all sides, with those three heads and all three heads breathed fire. He would have to cut off all her heads to kill her. He could cut down the lion’s head but the goat’s horns would gore through him at once. The snake will tear his arms and legs off once he was impaled on those horns. Lancelot’s ice might not be able to freeze the demonic fires of the chimera. 

It was a difficult situation. They will have to try to escape. 

“Siegfried-san.” Lancelot bent close, growing anxious as the other man kept very quiet, his expression equally confounded by the arrival of the chimera. The creature watched them from her distance as if finding twisted pleasure in watching her prey cower in its last moments of fear. The serpent head at the end of her tail hissing occasionally at the both of them. 

“We cannot kill this monster on our own,” Siegfried admitted conflictedly, his broadsword was still held outward in defense, guarding both of them. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Run towards the forests, use the cliffs to shield you.” 

The taller man grimaced, his eyes lowering on Lancelot’s face. “You are faster than I am.”

“I’ll slow her down. We’ll meet at the other end of the forests.” 

His instruction was met with a frustrated shake of Lancelot’s head.

“I do not need to be protected.” He voiced his intent hoarsely, his back stiffening in posture. “We’ll fight her together.” 

Siegfried shifted on his feet, metal boots scraping across the ground. His stomach sank a little at Lancelot’s confidence, at first believing the bravado was the younger man’s wish to be validated. Though a small thought nagged at the back of his mind that maybe it was more than just pride and ego which made Lancelot stay. 

The taller man sighed, his shoulders drooping before they hitched up again. His eyes fixated on the monster before them, brow knitted tight.

“She will see us from all sides, we are at a disadvantage here, surrounded by the cliffs and she knows it.” Siegfried made an obvious motion with his sword before he crouched even lower now, testing the chimera’s reaction. She did not even move a muscle, and her three heads still kept a watchful guard on her surroundings, the noses of her lion and goat’s heads widening and breathing in. 

The monster hunkered down on her haunches and seemed to smile at the men, her heads tilted in amused vigilance.

“We must cut off all her heads. If one head is left, she can regenerate. She already knows our scent.” He frowned. Upwind or downwind, they will not be able to get near. He might be able to shield both of them with his magic but it will not last either. That one time he fought a chimera was long before he met King Josef. It was a memory too far in the past and he only remembered he was not able to kill her, barely escaping with his limbs intact.

“We’ll face her head-on then,” Lancelot muttered. “I’ll injure her belly and when she is distracted, you will cut her heads off.”

Lancelot mused. All animals were vulnerable at their stomachs and this beast seemed not to differ as there were no protective plates or scales at her belly. He will take that chance. The chimera seemed to have discovered their plans. She lifted herself and roared, the bulbous eyes of her lion’s head glowing crimson, her back arching upwards to pounce. 

“Now, Siegfried-san!” Lancelot yelled, plunging his blades into the ground, uttering a single word of magic. Ice burst from the blades, shattering the stones and spread rapidly in a sleek, crystal-blue path towards the monster. The younger man yanked his blades out and pushed himself onto the ice, his lithe form sliding headlong towards the chimera; the slipperiness of the ice boosting his innate speed. 

The creature’s heads reared up, sensing the magically altered swift approach of the younger male, ready to breathe fire onto him.

Lancelot’s tactic worked. 

Miraculously, he was faster than the monster. In a blur, he swung himself beneath the chimera’s stomach and stabbed both swords into her soft flesh, ripping through the thin, vulnerable skin. Blood spurted out from the cuts, together with severed bits of viscera and skin, over his form and face. Realizing suddenly he was unable to freeze any part of the beast with the magic of his swords, he struck violently at her belly, using the flagging strength in his arms to inflict more wounds.

Sharp, ululating wails shook the ground and the chimera reared her giant body away from the painful stabs, the extended claws of her front paw slashing furiously down at his shoulder.

He heard his tendons and flesh of his forearm rip sickeningly; along with the utter pain cutting through his body and bright white light that shot through his eyes. The chimera’s three mouths opened in unison, ready to spit fire on the man convulsing in agony under her.

He gasped and flinched. But the burning heat of the fires did not reach Lancelot. The large shadow of Siegfried cast down across his body as his mentor held the monster at bay, holding his broadsword as a conduit to cast a temporary shield, barricading them against the flames.

The chimera, completely maddened, lifted herself, flapping her wings in violent flight. Blood gushed out from her belly with each push she made to fly and her heads breathed out a rush of demonic fire again at Siegfried. 

Unable to move, Lancelot felt blood seep through his armor, warm, wet against his skin. Frantically, he stared up from his supine position at Siegfried. His mentor’s shield was weakening as he was pushed back with each fiery breath from the chimera. 

“Hah!”

Siegfried bellowed, taking the split-second advantage as the chimera drew breath to attack him with another round of fire, to vault himself towards her in mid-air. The Dragonslayer in his hands glowed a brighter red than the monster’s fires and in one wide-sweeping cut, he expended the last bit of his strength and lopped two of her heads off. 

Her acidic blood gushed from where the two heads were severed, splashing on his armor. Her tail thrashed out, snapping her jaws at his back, her poisonous fangs gnashing through his armor, latching deep into his waist. Siegfried gritted his teeth, his foot forcibly kicking the monster away from him.

The chimera tumbled onto the ground, her wings folding wretchedly, falling on her side next to her two severed heads. 

Siegfried followed, landing hard on a shoulder. Blood welled up at his waist, appearing in dark stains against his garments. Rolling to his side, he stumbled up, broadsword in hand as he moved towards the fallen monster. he remaining head hissed and spat vehemently at him as he angled the edge of his blade at its neck. As long as this head remained, the monster will regenerate in a matter of hours and become completely recovered. 

Lancelot forced himself to turn his body, crawling to a boulder on the path. He dragged himself to a sitting position, trying to ascertain his injuries. His upper arm was lacerated badly, the claws of the monster had sheared his skin and flesh into jagged strips. He tried to tilt his head down to check his shoulder and found he could not. The spreading dampness across his skin and the metallic odor of blood made him realize that he was bleeding severely.

He found himself becoming faint. The last he felt before his eyes closed was Siegfried’s arms around his back; lifting him into a protective embrace. 


	6. Just this once, hold on a little longer…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried carries an injured Lancelot to the village in the north. He seeks help from an old friend.

A lone man in dark blue and black armor walked down the path stoically, carrying another in his arms. The broadsword strapped to his back was stained with dried greenish blood and specks of torn flesh. It dirtied his cloak as well but the man did not seem to care. At moments, he looked down on the sleeping face of the young man held in his arms, the latter’s features wreathed in agony.

Lancelot’s body jerked suddenly, convulsing as the chimera’s poison wrecked his muscles. His lips, dry and pale, parted, croaked a string of gibberish and he turned to nestle his bruised face into Siegfried’s chest, hands clutching at the frayed edges of the man’s cloak. The claw wounds on his shoulder and arm had stopped bleeding and Siegfried had loosely bandaged the injuries with strips of cloth torn from Lancelot’s cloak.

As he continued on the path towards the village that was their original destination, suspicion grew deep in Siegfried’s mind. The meeting with the wyverns and the chimera did not seem by chance. The monsters only frequented the warmer parts of the entire island and they also blatantly behaved like they almost knew that the two men would head down this route. 

The chimera especially. As if someone was watching them through her eyes.

Lancelot groaned, his body curling tightly against Siegfried. He adjusted the younger man’s position, cradling him closer and resting Lancelot’s head against his shoulder where he pulled part of his cloak over. The latter’s breathing was unsteady and his dark, messy hair was matted with sweat. Siegfried knew it was still extremely difficult to endure the excruciating pain as the toxins burned at one’s bones. He continued to walk, seemingly unaffected by his wounds yet very much aware that the blood from the serpent bite on his waist had welded his inner garments to his skin. 

He needed water and medicine. The village’s healer should be able to help with cleansing the toxins and treating their superficial wounds once they get there. A chimera’s poison was not life-threatening unless one ingested it directly. Though he grew unsure if Lancelot consumed any of the toxic blood from the monster when he was attacking it. Siegfried’s face was still grim, his expressions switching from vacant to vexed, the muscles in his neck cording in worry every time Lancelot winced. He lifted the younger man upwards, using the crook of his elbow to tilt Lancelot’s forehead to him, his cheek touching the hot and sweaty skin. The lithe body held in his arms convulsed again, and Lancelot made a choked sound in his throat. Siegfried’s brow wrinkled. He turned down his head to press his lips lightly against Lancelot’s hairline, soothing him.

Siegfried’s eyes held a far-off look as he lifted his head. Then, he picked up sounds - faint, from behind them.

The clopping sound of fast trotting hooves. 

The man turned, his arms moving protectively around Lancelot’s body. Siegfried’s eyes blinked, astonished.

The two horses which they sent running back to the Order, returned - the dark, gold-streaked Akhal and his silvery-white companion. The white horse came forth, whinnying gently before the two men, its muzzle nudging at Lancelot’s sleeping face. Siegfried marveled a little at their intelligence; the horses must have hidden in the forests and followed their scent when the danger was over. He was deeply thankful that these creatures were now with them as he secured Lancelot upon the white Akhal, in a prone position, letting his head rest sideways on the animal’s muscular neck. Tying the horse’s reins to his wrist, he pulled himself up on his mount and steered both in the direction of the village.

Night had fallen and the skies above were overcast. Their only source of light came in the form of tiny prisms that glowed deep yellow, given to the knights by the royal court mages. It did not help one to see far, only the first five steps ahead but this was sufficient for Siegfried. He hung one prism on the white Akhal’s bit, while the other one he strung across his hand. As he persevered on, he checked the road ahead carefully and frequently, the sleeping man on the horse next to his.

The soft glow from the windows of scattered farmhouses lit the horizon ahead, the lights become brighter as they approached the village. The cliffs were left behind and the land spread out in vast expanse, the orchards and fields shrouded in the darkness of the night. He could smell apples as they made their way further down a wide stone-strewn path, the horses swaying in their gait as they picked out the potholes on this seemingly well-traversed road towards the village’s main gates. Siegfried’s tension abated and his head drooped a little, a weary relief sinking into him. Somehow, somewhat, the rhythmic trot of his horse lulled him to a brief moment of sleep.

“Siegfried-san!”

A loud, girlish voice called out, carrying quite a fair bit of shock in its tone. The tall man’s eyes opened and his form sprung upright on his mount, staring right ahead at a plump lady, her hands wrapped tightly around the handle of the basket she was carrying. 

“Siegfried… san?”

She tilted her head, walking a few steps forth to confirm the identity of the man on the horse, her eyes running up and down his features - at the matted long strands of chestnut brown hair, the dark stains on his face and she let out a small cry as she sighted the comatose Lancelot on the horse next to Siegfried.

Hurriedly, she put down her basket.

“Is he dead?” 

She dropped her basket on the floor and pressed her trembling hands to her mouth, trying to get close and immediately flinched back as the white Akhal bared its teeth at the woman. By this time, a few curious villagers also noticed the arrival of the two men and approached as well. They were familiar with Siegfried but the sight of the men’s disheveled appearances and the woman’s loud cry startled them. 

“No, he’s not dead but he needs help.” Siegfried slipped down from his mount and moved towards the white horse, placing a hand on the beast’s neck to calm it down. Then, he turned to the woman, finally registering who she was. 

“Marisa, where is Valen?”

“He’s with my father.” The woman named Marisa replied, picking up her basket and pointed them in the direction of a large house next to the village’s well. She scanned the villagers gathered around them and moved to drag a young man from the group. He made a face at her but did not move away. 

“My brother can take care of the horses,” She bit her lower lip and quickly hitched up her skirts, “Bring your companion to our house, Valen can take care of him there.”

The tall man nodded quietly and proceeded to gently lift Lancelot from the horse into his arms. He glanced at the two Akhals momentarily, as if instructing something and the animals visibly relaxed. Marisa gasped as her eyes fell upon the cloth strips, the white fabric mottled with both fresh and caked blood, that was bundled about the young man’s shoulder and arm. 

Her mind suddenly registered the severity of the young man’s injuries. 

“Come!” She urged, grabbing her basket and leading the way towards the house she had pointed out to him earlier and she marched ahead, pushing the door open forcefully.

“Valen!” Marisa cried, almost running to the table where a handsome fellow with an aquiline nose and curly reddish hair sat at. The old bespectacled man that was with him cocked his head, staring at his daughter rather quizzically. 

“Valen, Siegfried-san needs your help!”

“Help?” The redhead stood up, peering at the distraught woman, “Why… what are you….” 

There was a loud rustle at the doorway behind Marisa and Valen craned his neck slightly to look. 

“Siegfried?” Valen left the table forcefully, nearly knocking his chair over. He approached, eyes focused at once on the injured young man he was carrying. 

“We were ambushed.” 

Valen’s practiced hands move to push back a cloth strip with fresh blood on it; the fabric shifting easily. The healer’s eyebrows lifted and knitted together in a deep frown as he ran his eyes over the lacerations across Lancelot’s collar-bone, identifying the origin of the wounds at once.

“You met a chimera?” 

“Yes.” 

Valen’s face darkened visibly as his fingers moved back the cloth strip, “They never come to these parts.”

“You and I both know that,” Siegfried replied, his posture stiff. His chest lifted as he inhaled deeply before continuing, “He must not be moved anymore. Where can you help him?”

“Marisa, get them to the guest room.” The old man instructed and also stood up, picking his way towards the gathered group. “Light the fireplace and let them keep their weapons and belongings in there as well.” 

Siegfried nodded a little to acknowledge the village head’s generosity. Although he did not speak, there was gratitude in his worried eyes. 

Lancelot was carefully laid on top of a white blanket spread out on the bed in the middle of the spacious guest room. He woke briefly, eyes flying open and staring right ahead at nothing, the fingers of his uninjured hand twitching and clasping at the air. The healer pulled up a stool next to the bed, his long slim fingers moving to undo the cloth strips, pressing and wiping a soft chamois skin that was steeped in hot medicated liquid against the thick dried patches of blood. 

Marisa hovered next to him, holding the basin of medicine, her round face a little distraught. It was not the first time she had helped Valen deal with the injured but the wounds on Lancelot’s body made her feel a little sick.

Siegfried stood at the end of the bed, his arms folded against his chest, watching, and at times, shifting his posture. Valen tilted his head up and scowled a little as the tall man’s shadow cast across the bed, affecting his work.

“Why don’t you go and get a bath? You look dirty.” The healer snapped under his breath and went off in a quiet yet threatening tirade at Siegfried. “You don’t have to stand guard here, I know what to do. It’s not the first time either I have to treat a wound like this one here.”

The healer shook his head at the stubborn Siegfried. And it was not the first time, nor the last, that he had to deal with this man’s pigheadedness. 

“And go deal with your wound,” Valen muttered, flicking a finger towards Siegfried’s waist and bent down, sliding the wooden box on the floor next to him, towards the foot of the bed. 

“There are bandages and medication in the box, take it.” 

The redhead’s voice was now less irritated, and he turned back to Lancelot, carefully removing the last of the strips and bent down close, checking the extent of the injuries. He placed the back of his hand against Lancelot’s forehead, mumbling a series of ‘mmm’ and ‘hmm’ before crooking a finger to Marisa and giving her instructions. She blinked, her mouth making a small ‘O’. She left the basin on the small table next to the healer and clapped her hands to her cheeks in an embarrassed motion before hurrying out of the room.

Siegfried frowned at the interactions between the two. He shifted his feet, wanting to make a move towards Valen when the healer gracefully raised his hand immediately to stop him from approaching. 

“He’s poisoned. The toxin is already in the bones. I’ll do a cleansing tonight for him.”

Valen elegantly tucked a lock of red hair behind his ear as he turned to look at Lancelot who had fallen back to a fitful sleep. 

“If you need cleansing, I will do it for you after I treat your companion.”

Siegfried shook his head. Few knew of the magical properties of dragon blood and even fewer knew of Fafnir’s blood in his veins. Not even this genius of a healer before him would be able to guess that. 

“No, I was not bitten.”

Siegfried picked up the box from the floor.

“Oh, hmph. I should have thought of that.” The redhead chuckled unamusedly, his expression turning dour, “Well, anyway, Marisa refused to wipe down your companion. You’ll have to do it yourself.”

Valen cocked an eyebrow at Siegfried as his slender fingers move in deliberate slowness to undo the buckles and straps around Lancelot’s armor. “She will bring hot water and some clothes for him once you’re done with your bath.”

He turned back to Lancelot, a faint smile across his handsome face, “He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he.” The healer off-handedly commented the moment the tall man turned his back to leave the guest room while he removed Lancelot’s chest and shoulder plates as well as his gloves. 

“Just heal him, and do nothing else,” Siegfried growled, glancing over his shoulder at the red-haired man next to the bed. Valen laughed softly and stood up, bending his slim body over Lancelot’s legs, pulling the stained greaves and boots off. 

“Yes, yes, yes, I heard you twice.” The healer grinned wide, teasing, tiny canine teeth slipping over his lower lip. He dug for a pair of scissors from a pouch on the bed and proceeded to snip apart Lancelot’s inner garment.

“You should trust me. After all, aren’t we old friends?” Valen laughed under his breath, wetting the black fabric with the medicated cloth as he lightly peeled it back with one single skillful motion. 

“Ah, mmm, this does not look too bad… what a shame though,” The redhead muttered loudly as he smiled to himself, his gray-green eyes bright like a child finding a new toy, for he was completely focused on his job now. “Go, go, go clean yourself well, Siegfried.”

Siegfried grimaced and left the guest room.


	7. His Love, His Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried is unable to stifle his growing desire. As he orally pleasures Lancelot, he continues to treat the younger man extremely preciously.

Marisa left a large pitcher of hot water, a basin and a stack of clean towels on the table by the bedside. There was also a change of clothes for Lancelot - a simple cotton tunic and brown slacks. She had also placed a stack of chopped logs and stoked the fireplace, keeping a crackling fire burning to heat the room. 

As promised, the healer had deftly re-bandaged the Captain’s shoulder and upper arm and removed all traces of blood and poison from Lancelot’s body. There was a slight damp sheen on the younger man’s hair as if it had been washed. Lancelot laid straight on the bed, his breathing quieter and more even now, his features relaxed, his nakedness covered with a thin blanket. Siegfried frowned barely at the sight, his lips flatly pressing together. 

He sat on the bed, next to Lancelot, proceeding to lift him to an upright position. With one hand, he took up the pitcher and tilted it against the basin, watching a few bundles of herbs and dried flowers, white and purple, tumble out in the flow of water. A pleasant apple-like herbaceous aroma lifted along with the swirling steam, somewhat soothing his senses as well. He pulled back the blanket from Lancelot’s chest and bunched it at the younger man’s hips. Wetting one of the towels, Siegfried methodically began to clean Lancelot’s face, chest and back. 

When he was almost done with cleaning, Siegfried felt cold fingers move and curl over his hand which was holding the towel. Lancelot had stirred, his eyes slowly opened and he found his sight still blurred. His mentor stopped wiping and cupped his other hand around Lancelot’s head, tilting the younger man’s face up towards him. 

“How do you feel?” 

Siegfried asked, his eyes were lit with concern as they darted over the younger man’s pale face. 

“Better,” Lancelot mumbled, tilting his face to look up at him before turning quietly to rest his cheek on the cotton fabric of his mentor’s shirt. He took in a light breath, the scent of Siegfried’s still-wet hair and a soft hint of apples and flowers woven into it. It comforted him a little, somehow.

Lancelot closed his eyes, a tremor inching into his voice and his hand fell slack by his side. 

“I thought I was dead.”

His mentor did not reply. He placed the towel on the table and his hand returned to clasp Lancelot’s own. At the warm touch, the younger man’s shoulders quivered, his body moving involuntarily to press against Siegfried’s. 

Siegfried sighed inwardly, his chest heaving in a tumble of conflicting emotions. He moved further onto the bed, easing his legs onto the mattress, his other hand moving down to support Lancelot against him.

“Where are we?” Lancelot asked, moving to sit up for a bit and took a brief look at the room they were in. The glow from the fire at the fireplace offered enough light to silhouette both himself and Siegfried in half-shadow. He could not make out the size of the room or what else was there. 

“We are in the village,” His mentor replied, shifting his body to lean against the bed’s headboard. Lancelot pulled his hand away from Siegfried’s, his fingers moving to touch his left shoulder and arm, and part of his neck, feeling the thick layer of bandages tied around it, the strips bound across his chest. 

“And who did this?” Lancelot pointed at his dressings and turned slightly at his waist, the thin wool blanket falling away from his stomach, to look questioningly at Siegfried.

“An old friend.” He mumbled, his hand moving down to the small of Lancelot’s back. He made a mental note in his head to speak with Valen about stripping Lancelot naked

“I would like to thank him,” Lancelot’s voice grew serious as he moved to get up from the bed.

“You can thank him tomorrow,” His mentor interrupted, an indelicate demand and an ounce of jealousy grating in his tone. Just as quickly and quite painfully aware of the way he spoke, Siegfried’s chin lowered, his forehead moving to rest on Lancelot’s unbandaged shoulder. 

“Siegfried-san?”

Lancelot turned his neck slightly, a little stupefied by Siegfried’s behavior though it was something he did not dislike immediately. Then, it became shamefully clear to him how close Siegfried was next to him and that he was completely encircled in his arms. His cheeks grew warm and hot.

A dazed heat crept up from his lower back where his mentor placed his hand.

“Shh.” That hand moved, trailing upwards along the curve of his back. And then he felt muscled forearms move forward, framing his body into an embrace. His right arm was grasped, pulled up to the lips of the man behind him, his wrist pressed to those lips.

He felt Siegfried’s chest expand behind his back, with each breath he took. 

“Don’t test me anymore, Lancelot.” 

Siegfried’s voice grew thick and low, bordering on a little upset and a hint of greediness. Lancelot felt himself being lifted and then lightly pushed down onto the bed, the other making sure he avoided touching the injuries. 

The shadow-filled back of Siegfried now shifted to arch over him. 

His blue eyes widened. His breath quickened and his mouth trembled as Siegfried drew his head downwards, pulling his quivering lips into a kiss. Lancelot swallowed, the pressure on his mouth urging him to reciprocate and he returned its intensity, pressing upwards as much as his body could allow him to. Siegfried paused and pulled away. His expression was shadowed in the semi-lit darkness of his room; his desire heightened clearly in his tawny eyes. Lancelot’s lips curled inwards, feeling a remnant heat left by the kisses on his mouth. He looked up at the man above him, his eyes half-lidded in a fervid haze.

Drawing down his head once more, Siegfried placed another kiss onto Lancelot’s lips as his hands slip behind, pressing the lithe muscles of the younger man’s back in gentle rhythmic motions, his fingers moving up and down, feeling the bump of the bandages and the suffused heat of naked skin. 

Then, he felt his jaw tilt, pushed upwards by Siegfried’s head as the latter’s mouth now finds the curve of his neck, sucking, drawing wetness across his skin with the tip of his tongue. With Siegfried’s weight pressing down on him, Lancelot suddenly became all too aware of the difference in strength between him and his mentor. He laid there, gasping in arousal now the attention was no longer on his mouth. The thin blanket that covered the lower part of his groin and his legs were moved away. Lancelot blinked, realizing suddenly what was going to happen. He struggled, trying to prop himself up on his good elbow.

Alas though, he completely registered that he would have to surrender.

Before he could sit up, he was lightly pinned down with an insistent hand on his stomach, Siegfried’s palm flattening across his naked belly, the man himself shifted, sitting back on his knees and bent forward, tracing hands down Lancelot’s waist and hips as he moved lower.

And before he could cry in objection, a soft moan replaced his protest and lust rose up in a tiny cry, gripping his throat.

Siegfried kissed between Lancelot’s legs, one hand clasping Lancelot’s thigh and slowly forced his legs apart, sinking fingers into the firmness of muscle and flesh. His tongue slid downwards, leaving bites and careful licks. Groaning mutely, Lancelot lifted his back, tilting his head downwards to stare, unable to pull his sight away. A sharp pain lanced through his injured shoulder and he shuddered back into the pillows. 

Lancelot drew in a deeper breath and bit the inside of his lip. He wanted badly to touch him. Moving his hand downwards, attempting to ignore the strain, he palmed his mentor’s head, letting the strands of chestnut brown hair slip in between his fingers. A very deep, very moist warmth gripped his growing hardness; and a tongue pressed greedily against his suddenly sensitive skin. 

The pressure building in his groin was too much; his back twisted and he cried out once more, his voice clipped and soft, the humiliatingly erotic sensations swelling in him so great that he pushed his hips weakly against Siegfried’s face, wanting the other to take in more of him inside his mouth. 

“Siegfried-san...”

He whispered hoarsely, drawing in a breath of air and his twitching fingers clenched around Siegfried’s hair. 

He wanted release so bad. 

“Faster…”

Lancelot gasped.

“Please!”

His request was dutifully obliged. Lancelot pulled his hand away, clamping it over his mouth, trying to muffle his groans as his slender body jerked in spasms towards Siegfried’s heated mouth. Warmth rippled down his back and it rose throughout his being before his spasms ceased. He felt his muscles acutely relax, the pain in his injured shoulder and arm fading in the afterglow of his orgasm. 

Then he heard a faint rustling of sheets and a shift of weight on the mattress before he was freed from the other man’s lips.

Siegfried angled himself to lie next to Lancelot’s sweaty body, resting his body weight on an elbow and forearm. The younger man turned his head to look at Siegfried’s face, watching his mentor’s tawny sights darken with more desire. In the dim light, Lancelot saw wetness glistening on the man’s lips; where he had emptied himself so wantonly earlier.

Should he not return the pleasure? He tried to turn on his good arm and was insistently made to lie back down to a shake of Siegfried’s head. 

“No, not here or tonight.” As if reading the younger man’s mind, Siegfried rejected him. Now he sat up, kneeling between Lancelot’s legs. 

Deftly, Siegfried undid his shirt, pulling it off. White bandages covered the wound at his waist, where the chimera had bitten, the cotton strips bound tightly across his hard abdominal muscles. He slipped out of the pants he wore, pushed both garments from the bed on the floor. Siegfried’s chest rose as he panted a little, largely from lust, slightly from the pain. His hand moved to push tousled curls from Lancelot’s face and his body curved over his, pressing a gentle kiss onto Lancelot’s forehead. 

Gathering him into a careful embrace, he turned and laid down, spooning Lancelot from behind; his hardness resting naked against his lover’s body.

“Siegfried-san?” Lancelot whispered somewhat in concern. Whatever he thought would happen, did not occur, and somewhat he felt a little disappointed. With a soft rumble within his chest, Siegfried settled on his side, resting his chin on top of Lancelot’s dark head.

“I had overestimated myself.” 

He replied quietly, pressing his lips into Lancelot’s ear as he drew the latter close, one hand moving to pull up the quilt around them. Lancelot wondered for a moment what he meant by that statement and then narrowed his eyes in utter frustration.

“No more questions. I’m content to sleep beside you for now.” 

Lancelot wanted to ask another question, but the stillness of the older man’s body behind his indicated that they should sleep and he should not inquire further. He drew in a breath to calm himself, his hand shifting to find Siegfried’s, linking his fingers into his, feeling his eyes draw to a drowsy close. 

Lancelot hoped that dawn perhaps would not come just too soon.


	8. Rising Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot realizes Valen seemed to be much more than just a simple healer.

The dark-haired young man dragged the quilt closer to him, his sleep-filled mind puzzled as to why his feet felt so cold in his bedroom. His eyes slowly opened, taking the shadowy outlines around the room. The sunrise brought a pale orange glow through the smudged panes of the closed windows, providing some illumination and allowing him to make out the smoldering embers heaped in a fireplace opposite the bed. This was where his hazy mind thought he was. The sound of a man’s even breathing was next to his ear as he grew lucid and progressively more aware of his surroundings, fragments of yesterday’s incident piecing back in his mind.

There was a dull pain in his shoulder and upper arm. Lancelot realized he could not exactly turn his neck freely and thus could only tilt a little to his side, his eyes shifting sideways to look at Siegfried. His mentor was still asleep, his profile shrouded in dim light as he protectively laid on his side against him. His arm was thrown over Lancelot’s stomach, the hand lightly clasping the latter’s hip. 

A dark blush crept up from Lancelot’s neck into his cheeks. That hand slid down to press against his naked butt as the man beside him stretched and shifted his body to a more comfortable position, pulling the lower half of Lancelot’s body towards him. 

That action and the memory of last night’s sensations heated Lancelot’s face thoroughly.

A thought of wanting to lift the quilt to look beneath it obscenely raced through his mind. His fingers trembled on the edge of the thick blanket. Then, his nails dug into the fabric and his hands stayed where they were.

For a long time, at least. 

As Siegfried continued to sleep, Lancelot laid wide awake, looking upwards at a foreign ceiling. More questions coursed through his mind. Certainly, he did not mind the attention lavished on him the night before and that he knew he desired even more. And certainly, it gave him more confidence and encouragement about his planned confession to Siegfried. He sank contemplatively against the pillows, now wondering how he would explain to his best friend the entire situation if his mentor accepted his affections.

So engrossed was Lancelot in his deliberation that he did not hear the creak of hinges as the bedroom door swung open.

A tall and handsome figure, with a shock of reddish hair tied back in a ponytail, stood right there at the doorway, and his knuckles lifted to knock two times sharply on the wooden frame before a low whistle was issued through a pair of pretty curved lips.

“Oh, I suppose the two of you managed to sleep very well?” The man took three steps into the room and look down at the two men entwined on the bed. 

“Hmm, hmph.” 

Valen made a choking noise in his throat and gently scratched at the side of his head. A few tendrils of red slipped from his ponytail and he pushed them neatly behind his ear. His face was still lit with that charming smile as he walked to the bedside, arms akimbo and bent his waist at an angle, peering down at Siegfried’s sleeping face with an expression of delicate contempt.

“Ah!” He tilted his head up, looking straight at a very red-cheeked Lancelot with extremely amused gray-green eyes. “I am Valen. And I fixed you last night.”

Lancelot was completely frozen. He laid still under the quilt, his eyes widening to a pale icy blue the moment Valen casually strolled in, unfazed at the scene before him. The redhead seemed to wait for a moment before he straightened his back.

“You know, I was hoping for a thank you or something to that effect,” He said breezily, and lifted a hand to slap Siegfried’s shoulder smartly, “After all, Lancelot, that’s your name, right?”

Lancelot nodded mutely, clutching the quilt tightly to his body. 

“Well, Captain Lancelot. You nearly died. But, then again, young man, nothing is beyond my fixing.” The healer chuckled in gleeful satisfaction.

Did this red-haired man just call him Captain? A frown cut across Lancelot’s brow. They were quite far from the Capital City; he was not even sure he was that famous enough to be known by name in the northern reaches.

The handsome redhead stepped back as Siegfried roused violently like a beast, a hoarse complaint resounding in his throat as he sharply twisted away from Lancelot to sit upright on the bed, the quilt falling away from the upper half of his body to bare decency about his groin. 

“Oh, are you awake now?” Valen folded his arms on his chest, his eyes running up and down Siegfried’s form with just a hint of irritation as the latter slowly rubbed the back of his head, his long hair a mess of tangled brown locks about his neck and face.

“Get up, then.” Valen unfurled his arms and gave Siegfried’s naked shoulder another savage pat which resulted in absolutely no reaction from Siegfried apart from a grunt of dissonance. The healer bent down gracefully, and with a ‘tch’ in his voice, picked up the garments on the floor, laying them back on the foot of the bed. 

“I have news for the both of you about the chimera. We’ll talk over breakfast.” Valen cocked his head, his expression turning grim as he left the room.

Lancelot gulped a little, feeling the burn of shame down his neck and back. 

“Yes, Valen-san… thank you...” He croaked after the departing man. The moment the door closed, Lancelot let out a huge sigh and immediately winced for his shoulder hurt from the exertion. The clipped cry of pain caught his mentor’s attention who turned to check on him immediately. The quilt they shared twisted around at Siegfried’s sudden movement. Lancelot’s fingers grasped thin air as the thick blanket was pulled off his body. 

His mentor leaned over him, his hand moving to check the bandaged parts of Lancelot’s neck, shoulder, and upper arm, touching the edges where the bandage ends are pinned together. There seemed to be no further bleeding and the bandages did not loosen. 

The sight of a bare Siegfried bent over him was quite overwhelming for Lancelot. He swallowed a little and used his good arm to push himself up to a sitting position, shying away from Siegfried’s hand. As fast as he could, he swung his legs down from the bed, badly aware he was completely naked. 

“I’m alright,” He assured his mentor, sucking in a breath and got up gingerly. Then he just stood there, looking at the clothes on the bed, a little unsure how to dress. The bandages were just a little restrictive and he could not move his hand or arm on his injured side freely.

“Wait, I’ll help you,” Siegfried rose from the bed as well, pushing locks of hair away from his forehead with his hand and the other grabbed the larger set of clothes, to cloth himself first.

He made Lancelot sit back onto the bed as he dressed him despite the younger man’s frustrating refusal. The clothes provided for Lancelot were still a size too large and wide, and it hung loosely on him, the shoulder seams falling below Lancelot’s shoulders. The undergarments somewhat fit along with the pair of worn farmers’ pants though Siegfried did not bother to smooth out the wrinkles after securing the belt.

Marisa was already serving heaping plates of eggs and sausages to Valen when the two men appeared in the dining room. She wiped her hands on her apron, told both to sit and that she would get them food at once. Her father had already eaten and gone off on his rounds to the fields to speak with the villagers. And, she pointed out, there was black tea with milk and just hot boiled milk alone if they liked that. His mentor reached for the milk pot and poured an ample glass of milk for Lancelot. The younger man frowned faintly but accepted the glass anyway. 

“The village’s hunting party came back with some information this morning,” Valen lightly sliced chunks off the charred pork sausage on his plate. He stabbed at a chunk and dipped it into runny egg-yolk, twisting his fork slowly to smear the yolk all over the piece of meat.

"A flock of chimera was sighted on the move just below the snow line of the mountains.” Valen continued, popping the yolk-smothered sausage into his mouth and made a rousing sound of satisfaction. 

“Ahh… this is good.”

His tongue slipped out to lick a wayward drop of orange on his lower lip, turning his gaze upon Lancelot meaningfully.

“Anyway, those monsters, they were just flying around in circles. They did not bother the hunters, nor attempt to get closer.” Valen twirled his greasy fork in the air for a while, still looking at Lancelot. The latter gripped his glass, his eyes caught in Valen’s sudden stare and uncomfortably swallowed the milk in his mouth. 

“But they did get close enough for our hunters to take a good look at them.”

He paused as Marisa walked in with the breakfast prepared for two men. Plates of sausages and eggs were placed in front of Siegfried and Lancelot, along with freshly-baked bread slices. Lancelot felt extremely hungry, remembering he did not eat that much in the last few days. Valen allowed a moment for the two men to begin on their breakfast. He frowned a little at Marisa who was quite taken with fussing over Siegfried who patiently permitted himself to be  _ fussed _ over. Finally, he could not take it anymore and waved for Marisa to leave the dining hall.

The redhead curved up an arm and intentionally tapped the nape of his neck. “So, as I was saying, they reported seeing purple crystals clustered on the neck of every chimera and around its stomach.”

“Dark essence?” Siegfried’s tawny eyes narrowed, the hands holding a knife and a fork pausing in mid-air. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, old friend,” Valen smirked, propping his chin upright with a hand, a finger swaying lazily at the awkward way Siegfried was holding his eating implements, “And I see you still hate using cutlery.”

“I would not use it if I do not have to,” Siegfried replied matter-of-factly, shoulders lifted in a shrug at the baiting comment from the redhead, “So, if there’s dark essence, then the chimera killed yesterday…”

“If you go back to the corpse you left at the cliffs yesterday, you might find your answer,” Valen finished Siegfried’s thought airily. He folded the remaining fried egg on his plate, cutting it up into dainty pieces before finishing the entire plate of food. 

“Or more than just your answer.”

The healer leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his slender back curving as he moved to sit at the edge of his chair. Valen focused his attention back on Lancelot once more, “If you don’t know much about dark essence, Captain, this means that someone out there is controlling a primal beast, and with the power of the primal beast, they are able to dominate the minds of monsters that belong in a primal beast’s territory.”

“I know that,” Lancelot blurted, flustered. He eyed the handsome redhead with barely concealed wariness. His lips parted, a question ready but the healer was faster and raised a finger to press on Lancelot’s mouth, silencing him. 

“That is excellent if you know. And, oh, I forgot…” The redhead praised Lancelot liberally before he chided himself, pulling his hand away and leaned against the chair. 

“How are you this morning, Captain? No headache, breathing difficulties?”

“Back pain?” 

The earlier suspicion was distinctively soothed as Valen’s charming, concerned voice washed over Lancelot. The Captain shook his head, his cheeks flushed, his eyes widening, “No, apart from this slight pain at the shoulder still, there’s no bleeding. And there’s no pain elsewhere.” 

Lancelot chewed on his lower lip.

“I’m very grateful to you, Valen-san, for saving my life.”

Valen cocked his head at Lancelot, and slid a side-ways look at Siegfried, his gray-green eyes alit with an entertained sheen, “No pain elsewhere? That’s good, Captain. You have a strong body and will recover faster than you expect.” 

The redhead beamed brightly at Lancelot, who returned the smile with an awkward one of his own.

Siegfried frowned. He set down his knife heavily on the table.

“Valen, is there any way we can find out who put those crystals on the chimera?” 

“There is, old friend, there is,” Valen drawled, and returned to propping his chin on his palms, his elbows uprighted on the table. “You’ll need to bring the crystal fragments from that chimera corpse back in the cliffs. Crystals used to control primal beasts and their monsters have a certain resonance to them, bound to the one who’s doing the control.”

“Rather like an identification paper,” He chimed and made a long ‘mm’ sound in his throat. 

“When a monster controlled by dark essence is killed, the crystal’s link goes dead. But some of its resonance still stays on.”

Lancelot nodded in rapt interest, complete attentive on the redhead. His eyes shone slightly as the healer offered this unusually new knowledge.

“This is how we can find them, and that they won’t know at all. Such is the loophole, and danger of dark essence.” 

Valen let out a short laugh.

_ We _ ? 

Lancelot wondered who Valen meant and before a question can be broached, his mentor’s deep voice interrupted.

“You’ll be able to find out who it is?” Siegfried stood up, pushing the chair away from him. 

“Old friend, I thought you knew everything about me,” Valen’s tone turned mockingly depressed and he pressed his hands to his temples dramatically, “Aren’t you the brute who just do not recall a single thing about our past?”

“I apologize,” Siegfried sighed in resignation at the healer’s emotional outburst, offering a grimace of a smile, “There’s just…”

“Fine, fine, fine! When do I even need so many words from you to know what’s going on in that mind of yours, Siegfried.”  Lancelot watched the exchange between the two mutely, genuinely wondering what was the relationship between the two men. Valen was very attractive for a man, he could not deny that. Something was fascinating and impressive about the way the red-haired man talked, the way his hands gestured in the air and all the information he had about the situation. Lancelot’s hand went unconsciously to touch the bandages beneath the fabric of his shirt, growing strongly curious about Valen’s identity and feeling a little sullen that the two seemed to have a closer connection than what he saw.

“Ah, you need to leave him here, the Captain, I mean.” 

Valen wagged a finger at Lancelot and stared up at Siegfried, his eyebrows once again doing that charming arch and lift at the tall man. 

“I’ll take good care of him here, Siegfried.”

“And nothing else, Valen.”

Siegfried growled. 

“I promise, nothing else.” The redhead held up his hands in mock horror towards Siegfried.

The late morning sun provided little heat to the growing cold front that had moved down from the snow line to the flatlands at the base of the mountains. Cirrus wisps sped across the skies overhead, chased by looming clumps of larger clouds. Thick patchy rain fell, the icy drops splattering onto the dirt path towards the cliffs where Siegfried and Lancelot fought the chimera. The winds blew in occasional gusts, howling gutturally through the treelines along the top of the cliffs. 

Siegfried snapped at the reins of the Akhal steed he was upon as the hulking corpse of the dead chimera came into sight. The horse snorted and stopped, skidding a little on the wet ground. He slipped down from his mount, his boots sinking into the mud, and made his way towards the gutted monster. Her two severed heads laid a distance from her body, the vacant eyes staring upwards at the skies, rainwater gathered in pools in her gaping mouths. With his foot, he pushed the body over, flipping the monster on its back. Its belly widened and her innards spilled out from the force of his kick. 

She was rotting slowly, though he could not find any trace of maggots or flies anywhere on her body. Her snake’s head completely crushed flat by the blunt force of his broadsword, fallen on the ground next to his feet, her eye sockets smashed inwardly and her fangs broken and chipped.

Without hesitation, he squatted down and pushed his clawed hand into her stomach, searching roughly, digging out semi-liquefied chunks of viscera and flaccid flesh. With the chimera dead, the acidic toxins in her blood posed no effects anywhere. He dug further and pushed aside her broken stomach and intestines before finding what he was looking for.

Siegfried looked at the broken pieces of stained purple crystals on his palm. He turned one around, fingers scraping away the bloodstains on its surface. The crystal gleamed a little at his touch as if reacting to him. Siegfried lowered his brow, eyes narrowing at the rest of the remnants in his hand. He closed his hand around them, feeling a dull throb from the fragments reach into his fingers. The subsequent feeling coursing through his nerves seemed almost angry.

_ Was it Fafnir? _

Would a dragon react to the allure of dark essence? He only knew primal beasts could be controlled by dark essence but dragons? They too were magical though they were more beast than magic. However, this was a question he knew Valen would have an answer to.

Perhaps he did find more than just one answer here. Giving the corpse a final look, the tall man rose from his haunches, dumping the fragments into a small black bag given to him by the healer. 

Whoever plotted this wanted Lancelot’s life more than his.


	9. His Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valen reveals the likely truth of the crisis Lancelot is facing. Lancelot accuses Siegfried of lying to him.

Valen picked up a purple crystal fragment, turning it around with two fingers to catch the light. He returned it to the heap on the black cloth spread out on the table, flecks of dried chimera blood adhering themselves to his skin. He flicked his thumb and index finger together, dark motes falling from his hand.

“Who is it?” Siegfried tilted his head back, leaning into the chair as he watched the redhead fiddle with the broken crystals. His left foot tapped methodically against the floorboards as he sat very still, waiting for Valen’s answer. The three of them were gathered at the same dining table, and Lancelot sat next to his mentor. He was curious as well, his blue eyes intensely focused on the fragments in the middle of the table. While Siegfried was out at the cliffs, he took the time to slowly wear his original armor and garments. Marisa had thoughtfully patched his black inner clothes so it did not look too worse for wear. His twin swords rested against his chair next to him. 

Lancelot let his thoughts drift again. Siegfried was completely dressed back in his usual deep blue garb and black armor - this attire of his always seemed foreboding yet familiar. He did not remove those dragon claw gloves either. There was an earthy smell of rain about Siegfried’s body and his hair, as well as a stately scent that comforted him with its closeness. Unconsciously, he moved his body nearer to Siegfried, leaning his chest against the table and curling his arms on the table. Valen noticed Lancelot’s little movement and smiled under his breath at the dark-haired young man.

The redhead coughed once and looked at his slender fingers, before announcing with an elegant flourish of his hand and a slight edge of hilarity in his voice.

“Lucan Ansel.” 

_Lucan Ansel._

Lancelot stood up violently, palming the table in shock. “Lucan Ansel?”

He asked again, his voice trembling now and again, “The rebel leader?”

“The _former_ rebel leader.” Valen corrected him with a raised index finger before he continued to speak,

“Well, he’s supposed to be invalid. But it seems like he’s still rather active in the rebellion.” 

With his finger lowered now, he languidly tapped at the fragments of crystal, the redhead’s eyes closed in thought. 

“Who are you?” 

Lancelot mouthed sharply, rising mistrust shaking his voice. His hands curled into tight fists as he took a step back, his motions toppling the chair he sat on. A thick frown layered upon his face and he turned towards Siegfried, his eyes wide and staring, his mouth opening to speak but unable to find words.

“I’m Valen.” The redhead replied, opening his eyes and slapped his hands once together, the clap resounding in the air. “Do you wish to ask that question again properly, Captain Lancelot? Perhaps the _correct_ question?”

Lancelot swallowed rapidly, trying to make sense of that ambiguous question The healer glanced at an expressionless Siegfried. Valen expelled a sigh from his lips. Folding his arms on the table, he rolled his cheek against his forearm, closing his gray-green eyes tiredly.

“Should I explain myself, Siegfried?”

“No,” Siegfried replied flatly.

A single answer. A rejection. 

Lancelot’s gaze turned incredulous. Siegfried raised himself from the chair. He reached out a hand, picking at the corners of the black cloth to cover the purple crystals and re-tied the bundle with its leather strap. Valen popped an eye open now and winked at Lancelot, somewhat enjoying that stunned look of dismay on Lancelot’s face.

“I offered to tell you, but your man here says no.” Valen’s handsome face was wreathed in reluctant elation as he roused himself upright, his shoulders lifting in a shrug, his palms lifted and opened in acceptance. He looked thoughtful, his eyes lowering for a moment and then deviously raised towards Lancelot and Siegfried.

“An island does not just fall from the skies, Captain Lancelot.”

Siegfried stepped away from the table, the cloth bundle gripped in one clawed hand and stuffed away, and his other hand moving to retrieve his broadsword, strapping it behind his back. 

“Ah well, you must not have given that statement much thought even when you were tasked to be the main investigator,” Valen cupped his chin with his palms now, his eyes crinkling in woeful humor. “I must say, your King was very much correct on that notion. But he wasn’t sure either where to look, and he should be very worried right now.”

“But, a pity your King picked up the wrong clues, Captain.”

That statement resulted in a deep frown on Lancelot’s face, now that the intelligence of his King was questioned.

“Could have sent you to an actual death if not for Siegfried bringing you here.”

The healer toyed a little with his fingers, checking his nails before he eyed Lancelot pointedly. Lancelot’s posture turned rigid. His heartbeat resounded loudly in his head as Valen’s voice echoed into his ears, smoldering his thoughts. 

He held up his hand and crooked his tapering fingers, picking something out from a cuticle. 

“Since Ansel did not see you in Silverwind Stretch, he probably thought of making the first move.”

“That’s enough, Valen,” Siegfried warned, his voice low and threatening. He moved his hand towards the door handle, ready to exit.

Valen wiggled his fingers a little and clasped his hand shut. Bemusedly, he flipped a finger out and arched it in one significant motion, pointing it upwards, those pretty lips blanched in that meaningful smile.

“Lucan Ansel’s primal beast is right above the city, Captain...”

Valen let the announcement sink in, enjoying a rather felicitous moment as he watched panic stamp its way across Lancelot’s florid face. 

“Lancelot.” 

Lancelot stood still, shoulders slumped, his facial muscles slackened. 

“Lancelot!” Siegfried’s voice petered out to a glowering snap. “We will leave now.”

The dull orange light of the afternoon seemed to penetrate through the window panes onto his face, waking him up. Questions toppled over each other precipitously in his head. He jerked his head up, turning to his mentor, an angry glint in his now ice-blue sights. Blood rushed to Lancelot’s cheeks and there was an ugly expression on his face.

“You knew everything, didn’t you, Siegfried-san.” His voice was passionately tight, his hands moving to grab his weapons, fingers clenching over the hilts. 

“From the start of it all, you knew.”

Valen rested his head on an angle on his palm, watching the two men in bored amusement. _Why did you not tell me?_ The redhead completed Lancelot’s accusation in his head silently, quite taken with how fascinatingly innocent and adorable this young Captain was.

“Was it why you brought me here in the first place? This was all planned, was it not?”

Lancelot trembled, a stark ire lashing through his voice. He raised a hand to point at the smirking red-haired man.

“So, _he_ can tell me how stupid I was? Instead of you?”

“Come.” Siegfried crossed the distance between both of them in two large strides, clamping his hand on Lancelot’s wrist, making sure it was his uninjured side. “If we ride now, we will make it back to the capital city by midnight.”

“Wait, Captain,” Valen pushed himself up from the table, his palms lying flat on the surface, “A parting word of advice for you.”

Lancelot flung a resentful gaze at Valen as the healer called out to him. 

“Siegfried does not know anything at all.” 

The handsome fellow wagged a finger at the tall, brown-haired man and rested his hands on his slim hips. Then, Valen thought of something and tapped one hand on his chest, over his heart.

“So, ask yourself _here_ first, Captain, before you think so poorly of my old friend.”

Before Lancelot could answer, Siegfried had pulled him towards the door of the house. The handle was yanked down and the door pushed open roughly. Valen laughed a little and sunk his slender frame back into his chair, musing to himself as the two men left.

“What a shame, Siegfried. To see that you have finally fallen in love now.” 

He glanced at the windows momentarily, as if seeing beyond it, the ghosts of long-past.

“I wonder how things would have changed if you fell in love way back then.”

The redhead rubbed at his lips, his thoughts regretful and reminiscent. He rocked back on his heels, leaning against his chair, a tiny thought growing in his mind that he will not be seeing Siegfried back in this village for a long while. Then, his gray-green eyes fell upon a forgotten fragment of purple crystal on the table. It must have dropped out of the pouch. Siegfried was still, as like before, careless as ever. Picking it up, Valen smiled to himself as the tiny purplish chunk sang and thrilled against his hand.

“Siegfried-san.”

He grabbed at his mentor’s arm, forcing him to stop.

“Who is Valen? Why did he know so much?” 

Siegfried did not answer, his expression turned surly and his eyes a hardened brown. The two horses were already tethered outside, restless and waiting. Lancelot continued to hold Siegfried’s arm in a tight grasp, refusing to let him move towards the horses.

“Valen used to work for King Josef, together with me and Gunther,” Siegfried grunted, his hand moving to pry Lancelot’s fingers from his arm. “And that is all you should and need to know.”

Siegfried pulled himself onto the black and gold Akhal and indicated that Lancelot should mount. Exasperated at his mentor’s refusal to speak further apart from ordering him around, he clambered on his horse, nearly missing the stirrup. Lancelot slapped the reins of the white horse, urging the animal to chase the black Akhal which was already thundering out of the village’s gates. 

_Must he always decide everything on his own?_

Angry thoughts seething in his head, Lancelot gripped the reins with vehemence, the leather edges cutting into his palms. He did, however, notice that he seemed to be able to shift his shoulder a bit more and move his arm more flexibly. Valen’s skills no doubt were remarkable yet now he found no place in his heart to trust that red-haired man anymore.

They took a higher route, an off-track path away from the valley they traveled through, two days ago. The horses galloped restively across the clipped yellowish grass of the highland meadows towards the capital, a jagged tree line of conifers far away, wavering on the horizon as the two men continued their relentless ride. 

They did stop for a brief respite, to water the horses and let the beasts take a rest, in a dense forest of ginkgo trees, their flaming golden boughs hanging over a wide forest stream. 

Lancelot led his mount to the grassy bank, rubbing its neck soothingly as the animal panted out its exhaustion. It eased its muzzle down into the bubbling waters, almost gulping down the liquid. His mentor watered his mount a little upstream, a hand placed carefully on the dark Akhal’s neck. 

He stared intently at Siegfried for a long time and yet he could not see the latter’s face from where he was. The shade from the tree foliage cast across his mentor’s features, hiding whatever expression there was and the somber oranges of the late afternoon started to give way to the deepening violets and indigos of impending dusk and growing chill. 

Siegfried seemed to concern himself with persuading his horse to drink its fill, never at all once offered a look in Lancelot’s direction or raised his head. Lancelot’s hands clenched tight, fingers scratching the underside of his palms. 

There was a sinking sensation in his stomach upon realizing he was absolutely ignored. Unconsciously, he moved his hand over the bandages around his shoulder and neck, half wondering if the dull ache that he felt was due to his injuries. 

His eyes lowered, staring at his boots and the ground gilded with gold, the trees’ fan-shaped leaves swathing the forest floor in shades of soft yellow. The winds picked up as well, shifting through the boughs, coaxing the leaves away to rain upon them, like a brilliant amber cloud. A few leaves gently glided to land on Siegfried’s shoulder, caught in the many folds of his cloak. He did not seem to notice anything. Not the wind, not the leaves or the scenery about him. Siegfried’s head was lowered as well, his gaze stonily affixed towards the ground.

Lancelot drew in a breath, the tightness in his chest growing. That anger will not relent or go away. Curling his fingers to tight fists, he approached Siegfried, his expression tightening, the forcefulness of his strides crushing the golden leaves below each step into muddied yellow pulp. 

“Siegfried-san.”

He called, his voice thin and demanding.

The taller man did not look up at first. Instead, he turned his side towards his horse, his hand moving to pull at the reins of his horse, coaxing the animal away from the stream and gave it a slight pat on its rump. The creature whinnied, turned gracefully and together with its silvery-white companion, trotted away to graze on clumps of grass and weeds further up. 

Lancelot’s heart wavered, upon seeing his mentor’s profile. A hollowness rose in his chest, and it somehow made him feel empty. Siegfried seemed so far away and his eyes darkened to such defeat as if a thousand worries battled in his mind. 

Abruptly, Valen’s voice crept into Lancelot’s head.

 _So, ask yourself here first, Captain, before you think so poorly of my old friend_.

All the questions he had in his head fled and dissipated. Every single question, some borne out of plain anger, a few due to his bruised ego but all because of his selfish pride.

All that he did and tried was simply because he wanted to be worthy of Siegfried.

The harsh denunciation that he launched on him back then in Valen’s house rang loudly in his ears, each incriminatory, hurtful word that was lashed out towards Siegfried. 

Lancelot’s hands shook and they tightened even further, his knuckles whitening as he felt heated tears welling at the edge of his eyes. 

He did not just want to chase after Siegfried. Not forever.

“Lancelot.”

The sound of his name broke his thoughts. 

Siegfried’s hand closed over the younger man’s shoulder, still gentle in the way it offered comfort yet the way he called Lancelot’s name was drawn in melancholy and tinted in disappointment. Another hand was pressed on his other shoulder carefully. The slight force from those hands made Lancelot tilt his face upwards, to look at Siegfried. 

“Siegfried-san...”

“Was there something else you wanted to ask?”

Siegfried’s question felt ambiguous for it seemed to be an offer for Lancelot to ask anything of him. Then again, it might not be the correct question. With that thought now in his mind, Lancelot’s lips trembled, pale and withdrawn, pressing hard together in a thin line. He could not look down, nor away, the grip on his shoulders was surprisingly light yet draconianly strong and all he could do was look upwards, into Siegfried’s darkening eyes.

He swallowed once, his throat dry but he got a little more emboldened. Lancelot opened his mouth to ask that one question yet upon catching sight of Siegfried’s face, at his vacant gaze and the hint of bitterness on the edge of his downturned mouth, Lancelot balked.

Instead, a single, strangled word of apology fell painfully from Lancelot’s trembling lips.

Siegfried sighed. 

His hands relaxed, drawing the younger man comfortingly closer and they moved to caress his head, tidying his unruly black locks. Siegfried murmured something into Lancelot’s ear and repeated it. His words seemed to comfort Lancelot completely though he refused to cry as his eyes squeezed shut.

Lancelot pulled his arms upwards, balling his hands into fists and let them rest on Siegfried’s armored chest, bowing his head.

And again.

“I’m sorry.” 

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Siegfried solemnly raised his hand, parting a lock of hair away from Lancelot’s forehead, sweeping away the few fallen ginkgo leaves caught in the younger man’s hair. His fingers paused as he picked away a leaf and then dropped it to the ground, watching it twirl delicately downwards.

“Have you seen ginkgo trees before, Lancelot?”

Siegfried touched Lancelot’s jaw a little, urging the younger man to look up at the boughs above them. 

“No.” The younger man replied, his eyes narrowing to focus as now the sun had set to its lowest and the skies purpled down upon them, dark reds and indigoes suffused into the translucent gold of the foliage overhead. Somehow the beautiful sight alleviated part of the heaviness in his heart.

“King Josef used to have a ginkgo tree in the royal gardens,” Siegfried’s eyes grew a little distant in his recollection, the tale slipping slowly from his mouth, “He once told me that this tree symbolized the unity of all that were opposites and that he wished deeply our country grows in glory like this tree.”

Siegfried lowered his gaze, looking beyond Lancelot at the wizened trunks of the ginkgos surrounding them.

“To him, this tree meant loyalty and love unchanging, and for him, its golden crown shines like a bearer of hope in dark times.”

Siegfried straightened his back a little and shook his head, stopping his tale.

“I’m sorry. I’m such a bad storyteller,” He laughed at himself, shaking his head once more in embarrassment and changing the subject, “We should start on our way, it is already dusk.”

“Wait.”

Lancelot griped Siegfried’s hand with his as his mentor pulled away in preparation to leave. His other hand lifted to brush across the layers of frayed cloth around Siegfried’s neck, picking up a fallen leaf from the folds of his cloak.

He brought it up to Siegfried’s gaze and looked carefully at his mentor’s tawny eyes against the amber gold of the leaf he held.

“I was going to tell you the day before I leave for Silverwind Stretch,” Lancelot began, his voice catching in his throat. He stared at the leaf now, trying to encourage himself, searching for the correct words to begin.

“All I wanted till now, Siegfried-san, is to be able to stand next to you,” He slowly ventured, each word hesitatingly delivered from tremulous lips.

“So you’ll be willing to have me as your equal.”

Lancelot became silent for a while. The ginkgo leaf he held in his fingers fell as his hand slackened, falling to the side.

“So I will not always receive from you and not be able to give back.”

Siegfried listened quietly, his boots shifting on the leaf-covered ground. He made no move to push Lancelot’s hand away. The younger man’s fingers clutched weakly at his forearm, circling the cold armored expanse of his gauntlet as he hoarsely continued:

“I just want you to demand more of me so that I can give in return.” 

Lancelot drove back a rising surge of emotion in his throat as the impassioned words tumbled messily out from his mouth.

“So that I will know I am worthy of you.”

A coldness crept up Lancelot’s back and he cringed, waiting for Siegfried’s response. It was quiet, so quiet that he heard the breeze pick up around them and the approaching sounds of their horses from behind.

The reply that came first was not in words and his face was covered with soothing warmth, his head held and coaxed upwards by wanting hands and a long kiss was pressed chastely to his brow. 

“If this is what you wish,” Siegfried said simply, drawing himself away from Lancelot to look at him. 

He stood there for a while, thinking.

His King’s words drifted through his mind.

_Something about learning the subtleties of the heart._


	10. Stay with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried gives in to Lancelot's demand and makes love to him.

Their journey continued, the reverberating sound of galloping hooves and the rush of biting winds in their ears. Lancelot tried to calm himself down, mentally constructing a plan in his mind to deal with Lucan Ansel’s primal beast the moment they returned to the capital. He found himself more focused for the rest of the ride, his messy emotions cast aside and though the winds that buffeted his face grew frigid, it did not fade the warmth of that kiss left upon his forehead.

The flickering fires at the capital city gates came to sight as they drew closer to their destination. They rode through the quiet streets of the sleeping city towards the Order’s buildings, the beasts finally drawing to a clattering, panting stop outside the Order’s gates, the animals completely exhausted. Lancelot descended from his steed, preparing to enter the building and start preparing for tomorrow. 

In one swift motion, Siegfried caught hold of Lancelot’s wrist, his gloved fingers fastening tightly on it.

“Come with me,” He said, strangely demanding and decisive in his tone, adroitly turning his hand to capture Lancelot’s into his, slipping the grip up the younger man’s forearm and now pulling him into the building. 

Lancelot was made to walk briskly, towards a set of winding stairs that did not lead to his office and upon finding himself on the second floor, the Captain realized they were heading to Siegfried’s room. 

Siegfried closed the door of his room behind him, latching it shut. His fingers move to circle Lancelot’s wrists, twisting straps and pulling down the latter’s metal gloves; letting them drop to the ground before moving onto unlocking his clawed gauntlets from his hands.

Lancelot’s breath hitched in his throat. In the darkness of Siegfried’s room, there was a rising unbearable warmth and he felt growing pressure from sturdy muscles that encased him in a tightening embrace as Siegfried’s arms reached to his back, deftly unbuckling the belts that held his armor together. 

Piece by piece was pulled off his body, dropped onto the floor, placed upon a table that appeared from nowhere, on a chair that was pulled out for this purpose, until he was stripped down to his inner garments and pants.

“If you want me to demand more of you, I will.”

Siegfried murmured, echoing Lancelot’s request back in the gingko copse. He drew the younger man’s lithe body closer, turning his head to rest in the crook of Lancelot’s neck. Pressed against the wind-chilled coldness of Siegfried’s armor, and that thin black inner garment of his providing little protection, Lancelot shivered; both of the sudden cold and heightening arousal. 

The taller man pulled himself away, his gaze fixing gently on Lancelot’s face. And just like that, all the calm Lancelot had in him fled the moment those large hands cupped the back of his head, tilting his lips upwards. Then all there was, was pressure again as his mouth opened under Siegfried’s, his tongue flicking barely against his. 

Lancelot’s hands crept upwards, roaming to Siegfried’s neck, finding nowhere he could slip his hands into the intricately belted armor pieces the latter wore. His fingers became tangled in the layers of thick fabric that served as Siegfried’s cloak and he struggled beneath those. 

“Wait,” Siegfried’s voice rose, hoarse and soft. He freed Lancelot momentarily from his embrace, moving to unfurl the layers about his neck and shoulders, unclamping the buckles that held the black armor pieces together. His motions were quick and his hands returned to embrace Lancelot, drawing the younger man towards his body again and lifting his lips to his, offering kisses, some hungry, some gentle, all wanting. 

He moved again, half-carrying, half-holding Lancelot towards the bed. Caught in a passionate cycle of kisses, Lancelot felt his calves buckle a little upon hitting the edge of the bed and he fell upon thick blankets, his hands lifting to drag Siegfried’s heavier body down onto him.

He did not expect this reciprocation. Certainly, he did not believe it would be delivered in this manner or that Siegfried took that mess of a confession from him seriously. The rising lust for this man however dissolved any urgency Lancelot had about the danger Feendrache would soon face and for once, Lancelot broke his own rule, ignoring the guilt that came with abandoning his duty.

Lancelot broke away from the kisses and curled his arms around the taller man’s neck, drifting his fingers into Siegfried’s hair. He wondered if he should profess his love right now, one more time - it seemed right but those words did not slip out from his lips. 

Instead, a surprised cry replaced those words now that his inner shirt was twisted upwards, pushed towards his neck and Siegfried’s mouth latched down upon his naked chest, a tongue slicking wet trails across his skin across and around the bandaged parts of his body. 

The delivery of pleasure seemed to be quick this time, as a covetous fervor settled into Lancelot’s mind.

A warm hand parted his legs, sliding fingers into his opened pants and pulled it down around his thighs easily.

That same hand gently lifted the underside of his sac, fingers moving downwards to rub against the puckered hole of his anus with an extremely suggestive intention.

Lancelot inhaled as he parted his legs more, allowing that questing hand further access. He drew in breath after breath, sinking backward into Siegfried’s bed, the scent of his mentor’s sheets and pillows, and the scent of the man above him invading every sense he owned. Lancelot wanted to press himself against warm naked skin, to touch Siegfried where he would feel the greatest desire.

“Your shirt,” Lancelot mouthed, his fingers moving to grasp the ends of Siegfried’s inner garment, attempting to pull it off. He seemed to understand the neediness in that voice and gave in, drawing his garments off, and Lancelot’s as well, till all that was felt, was only each other and occasionally, the roughness of the bandages, a brief reminder of the crisis they encountered together.

Their love-making was unhurried and Siegfried took his time, his tongue desirous on every exposed part of Lancelot’s body, his hands curving down Lancelot’s hardened penis to elicit lewd soft cries from the younger man, in which every cry he responded with a rumbling moan of his own.

Lancelot bent upwards slightly from his stomach, wanting to turn around to provide relief for Siegfried and was again, pushed down with a hand slick with wetness.

“No.”

“Why?” Lancelot reached out to grasp Siegfried’s hand, linking his fingers into his, feeling the dampness on the man’s skin slippery on his own.

He whispered, watching the expression on his mentor’s face carefully. “Do you not want it, Siegfried-san?”

“Badly.” 

He pulled away and slipped both hands under Lancelot’s butt, kneading the muscles of his lower back slowly, rubbing his thumbs against the younger man’s tailbone. Siegfried drew downwards for another kiss, his tongue spreading across Lancelot’s lips, invading his mouth to tempt the latter’s tongue out to play.

Satisfied to draw yet another needy moan from his lover, he shifted, pulling Lancelot further up the bed, laying the younger man’s back against a heap of pillows. 

“But not as bad as I want to be in you.”

He bent down to whisper into Lancelot’s ear, kissing the curved shell and his lobe before he straightened. Having him caressed by Lancelot’s mouth would be nice, but Siegfried wanted something else more.

Something to consummate this precious night for the both of them for he was worried tomorrow might not even arrive.

He leaned forward, reaching out with a hand to pull the drawer of his side-cabinet open, retrieving a few vials of thick liquid from within. 

A muted ‘Ah’ drifted from Lancelot’s lips as the vials were scattered on his side. He looked up at Siegfried, his eyes softening and darkening to a deep blue in understanding. Lifting his knees, he parted his legs for his mentor. Somewhere adrift in his mind, he thought perhaps that one lesson he took so long ago about such lewd acts was not in vain. Of course, he could not help but wonder where his mentor obtained his education. It did feel suspicious yet shamelessly comforting that he too knew of these secret vials. He heard the pop of one vial as it was opened and Siegfried’s fingers tracing the seam below Lancelot’s erection, the slickness of the oil sliding down the cleft of his cheeks and sultrily coat his entrance repeatedly. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his nerves splitting in both pain and wanting as Siegfried’s finger slid inwards, past the tight ring of muscles. 

Lancelot cried out, gasps caught cyclically in his throat as the muscles in his waist and back bunched tightly, his hand moving to twist the bedsheets into his fingers.

That cry was hushed down with a kiss, and more kisses as another finger followed the first, stroking in and out in shallow motions before turning to spread and widen him further. 

Sharp pleasurable sensations shot upwards through his spine and in a faraway daze, he heard another vial pop open and more of the cold greasy liquid was dribbled down between his legs. Lancelot softened his cries beneath the kisses, now a third finger entered, stretching him completely, sliding deeply in. 

Desperately needy of these new sensations, he thrust his hips back onto Siegfried’s fingers. 

These sensations did not last for long though and Lancelot growled in frustration, hissing as the fingers were now removed. His eyes opened to look upon Siegfried’s large body hovering over his and his thighs were being pulled forward, his legs splayed apart further to allow Siegfried to kneel between them. Well-oiled fingers moved to push at his entrance, widening for another as slowly Siegfried lowered himself into Lancelot. His body shook as another cry warped in painful lust emitted from his mouth and that was too quickly softened by a fervent kiss as he was further breached, the fullness alien, overwhelming, intense. It went on, a slide, a push, a slide again his body grasped, touched and penetrated. Every single sensation swamped his mind deliriously as he felt hands supporting the roundness of his behind, lifting it to take Siegfried’s entire length into his body.

He was held there for a long moment, his lover drawing immense pleasure by just staying still, connected to him. A hand moved away to caress Lancelot’s trembling belly, soothing him.

“More…” Lancelot whispered, half-whimpering, his hand clamping over Siegfried’s on his stomach.

“Faster?”

Siegfried’s hand moved away to tease the tip of Lancelot’s hardness lightly. The touch made the latter blink rapidly and hiss under his breath, heady with a growing desire.

Lancelot could feel the muscles of his groin tightening in preparation for release.

“Faster...”

A rush of heat swept down Lancelot’s body as Siegfried obliged him, his hands gripping the younger man’s hips as his thrusts and pushes grew in intensity and speed, his needy groans coupled with his lover’s cries for more pleasure. 

Lancelot came with a garbled cry, as his release coated his belly in several spurts, white and thick, his breaths skidding in and out of his lungs. It was still not over as sensations continued to grip him between his legs as Siegfried kept himself inside, stroking his length with Lancelot’s tightness, his grip on the younger man’s waist strengthened. His jaw clenched and his eyes drew to a close. The thick muscles of his naked thighs corded and rippled as he made a move to pull out.

Lancelot grasped Siegfried’s hands the moment he realized his mentor attempted to retreat, digging his fingers into Siegfried’s palms and forcing him to stay inside him.

“No, don’t,” Lancelot muttered adamantly, lifting and clamping his legs around Siegfried’s waist, pressing his calves against hard, defined obliques.

The offer seemed to pique another layer of emotion in Siegfried. He leaned down, pushing deeply into Lancelot and kissed him, intensely, on his eyes, his cheeks, and his mouth again.

“Don’t take it out.”

Quietly, Lancelot voiced his thirst and yearning for even more closeness.

“I want you to come in me.”

Siegfried blinked at the request slowly, his eyes half-lidded with complete lust.

“You’ll have to forgive me then,” He stretched slightly above the younger man, kissing the top of Lancelot’s dark head, smoothing away the sweaty locks of black hair. A low moan issued from his lips as he thrust further, one arm curled around Lancelot’s back, the other supporting his weight.

His release came extremely fast, emptying himself completely inside his lover and thoroughly accepted with a long-drawn sigh from Lancelot as the feeling of fullness escaped his body in one long, wet stroke.

Siegfried panted, pulling away and his fingers slowly move to trace and wipe away the whitish flow at Lancelot’s reddened entrance, the soft ministrations eliciting thin gasps from the younger man.

He dug up a soft towel from the same cabinet and proceeded to clean Lancelot, kissing his lover’s drowsy face occasionally as he patted away wetness and grease from Lancelot’s stomach and between his legs. 

“Siegfried-san.” 

“Hmm?” He gently acknowledged as he straightened Lancelot’s legs, massaging his thighs and calves to relax them before re-arranging the blankets around their bodies. 

The night did not seem as cold as back in the northern village. 

“Will you fight with me tomorrow?” Lancelot asked, tilting a sleep-filled gaze at his mentor.

“We’ll fight together,” Siegfried promised as he laid on his side, next to Lancelot, placing a final kiss on the younger man’s forehead before pulling him close, thoughts gathering momentarily in his mind. 

Tomorrow, they will face the primal beast and destroy it.

And then, he will tell Lancelot the truth about Valen. 


	11. A Dragon's Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried realizes he needs more than just his current strength to fight the upcoming battle.

Lancelot woke up in the middle of the night, to the sound of even breathing, to Siegfried’s warmth. He pushed himself up, resting his back against the headboard of the bed, his motions unconsciously slow.

Heat rose to his face.

It was uncomfortable between his legs and further in an area where he had begged for more from the man next to him. His hand moved to press at his lower back, rubbing it lightly. The half-moon now hung at its highest point in the night sky, no clouds to mar its slow descent towards the mountain-capped horizon. He realized he did not sleep for more than an hour or two, perhaps. Lancelot lowered his head slightly to peer out of the windows, a frown slipping across his features. The indistinct rocky rises of the broken island above Feendrache could be made out barely and apart from shadows upon shadows, nothing else.

Lancelot leaned a little to his side, inching fingers on Siegfried’s shoulder, intending to lay a kiss on the man’s lips, but the attempt woke his mentor instead. Lazy fingers reached up to lace themselves across the back of Lancelot’s neck, pulling him down. 

“Are you leaving?” Siegfried asked between resigned kisses against the younger man’s forehead and cheek. Lancelot nodded slightly. He touched his mentor’s lower lip with a finger as Siegback laid back against the pillows, his eyes lidding back into drowsiness. His mentor’s bandages had loosened, and they sagged away his abdomen, revealing darkened newly-scarred skin. 

Lancelot breathed in slowly as if he remembered something.

“I’ll meet you later at the dock, Siegfried-san.” 

Siegfried grunted lethargically, his hand moving to clasp Lancelot’s, drawing the other’s fingers to his lips for one more kiss. Lancelot allowed for that moment of indulgence between them before he slipped away, feeling the ache spreading acutely down his stomach and to his legs. Somehow miraculously in the moonlit room, he found his armor and his inner garments. He hastily pulled whatever was sufficiently modest over his body before finding his way to the door.

Siegfried’s eyes remained closed, and he laid still until he heard the thud of his bedroom door. Once assured that Lancelot was no longer in the vicinity of his room, he left the bed, not bothering to find anything to wear. 

He did not need to for what he intended to do next.

Siegfried’s sword leaned against the wall adjacent to the row of windows in the bedroom, next to a heap of leather straps and black armor pieces. He brought the sword towards the windows, the muscles in his right arm flexing to support the weight of the weapon. Against the half-moon, the sword’s long curved blade gleamed a dull scarlet in the pale celestial glow. 

He breathed in deeply; the night air felt heavy and cold his lungs.

Back in the northern village, Valen had stopped him for a moment for a talk before Siegfried went into the room to check on Lancelot. Nothing was encouraging from the redhead about the situation they would soon face on their return to Feendrache. But, there might be one way, Valen surmised, in which Siegfried would be able to turn this to their advantage. 

He was not at all surprised that the healer would suggest such a risky method. And not at all alarmed that Valen did know about Fafnir all along.

Despite they parted ways long before that incident.

Siegfried blinked. 

He lifted his left hand over his chest, fingers widening flat against his skin. A warmth rose from within, each flush ascending with each beat of his heart. Siegfried’s head tilted downwards; his eyes drew to a shuddering close.

The dragon responded. 

It did not reply with words, nor react in thoughts . The man only felt heat coursing through his bones, streaming from within, pursuing a path through his flesh and sinew to wrap around the fingers that grasped the hilt of his sword. 

Suddenly, his fingertips burned as the metal beneath the hilt glowed an angry red, the leather-wrappings around that hilt scorched to black at their edges. The bitter odor of seared flesh crept around him. Siegfried’s jaw clenched as he held on, his left hand coming together to fold tightly over his right, supporting the trembling sword. 

Dragonfire erupted from between his clasped fingers, enflaming the entire length of the blade in brilliant ruby. The flames twisted and chased upwards, encircling the blade like a ravenous beast devouring its prey.  Siegfried’s heart palpitated rapidly, each thump resonating like a faraway echo in his ears. The frenzied vortex of fire around his sword swallowed every single sound in the room. A small part of him wondered if the dragon knew what he wanted or wished. But that thought extinguished as quickly as it materialized. 

The flames ignited into a brilliant display of red and gold as they leaped higher and higher, culminating into radiant bursts above him. Utterly transfixed by the surging fires, the scalding pain on his palms and fingers long forgotten. 

And just as blindingly bright it was moments ago, the flames rose to their highest and vanished. Glowing motes of pale gold fell, scattering the darkness around the man and his sword.

Siegfried lowered the blade in his hands, finding no burns on his palms nor his fingers. He lifted the sword upright again, letting the moonlight fall upon the blade.  The weapon now towered to twice its original height, its draconic embellishments magnified, the curvature of its blade so intimidatingly wide it would be able to sever a dragon’s head in one clean stroke. The hilt appeared to be the same length though as he hefted the sword again horizontally with both hands, it  _ seemed _ different.

As if invisible hands _guided_ the swing of his sword.

Sword in hand, Siegfried turned to where he had left pieces of his armor, picking up each item and laying them on the bed. Every piece made of the same dark metal felt hot to touch as if it was laid out in the sun for hours. 

The dragon did not just metamorphose his weapon. It transformed his armor as well.

“Heh.”

The man could not help but gloat a little within. Dragons were never known to be generous creatures, nor were they  thus lavishly charitable. He pondered why Fafnir would be extravagant, providing a blessing and acting on a frivolous wish,  yet not siege his mind this time. 

Even when Siegfried decidedly relinquished himself entirely in exchange.

No one could guess a dragon’s mind, he thought, albeit ironically. Not even his old friend. But Siegfried would take all the altruism handed to him right now, willingly or unwillingly.

Lancelot was waiting for him at the dock as promised. 

He was dressed in his customary deep blues and gold; his dual swords fastened tight to his back, their ultramarine pommels gleaming in the sunlight. 

Dawn had broken. The early morning sun reluctantly lifted in a parade of deep orange and gold above the still-dark horizon. A violet tinge, suffused with rose and crimson, parted the mists beyond the rounded sterns of the airships floating at the Order’s dock. Lancelot was already aboard an Engella, one of the smallest yet swiftest of the airships the Order owned, tinkering with the controls.  Siegfried approached the tiny airship, patting a hand on its coppery-green hull before he pulled himself up the ladder riveted to the bow. The Engella rocked gently in the air when he stepped onto the deck. Not noticing Siegfried’s presence for he was too engrossed, Lancelot cranked down a handle, sending piston valves pumping. The multi-propellers attached to the ship’s stern began to spin. The small ship bounced and backed away from the dock, tugging sharply at its mooring ropes. 

Finally, he did hear the approach of heavy boots and looked up, his mouth parting in slight astonishment.

“Siegfried-san?” Lancelot straightened himself, placing hands on the steering wheel, grasping the wheel’s felloe tightly in shock, his eyes following the weapon his mentor carried.

The immense length of the deep red blade was now resting on Siegfried’s shoulder instead of strapped to his back. He wore his full armor, his helm tucked under the other arm. His mentor briefly smiled, amused at the baffled look on Lancelot’s face, and stepped upon the half-deck. Moving the sword to a vertical position, he let its tip rest lightly upon the wooden planks of the deck as he steadied the weapon with a forceful grip.

“Wait… Siegfried-san, what happened to your sword?” 

The question finally tumbled out from him in a mess, and Lancelot felt a little stupid for asking what was obvious. 

_ Something was not right. _

“Lancelot, your hands, hold this.” Siegfried held his helm out to the still-bewildered man who took it without question. His eyes lowered in askance, scrutinizing the helm he held in his hands, the blackened metal of the helm, and its twin horns belying a crimson sheen. 

Siegfried laughed. Suddenly, his heart did not feel as heavy as earlier when he left his room.

“Nothing happened.” 

He chuckled, a little grimly.

“Only that I thought I’d need a bigger sword to kill a bigger beast.”

“But, you feel different,” Lancelot blurted, his head lifting to stare at his mentor, his eyes widening, his voice trailing off into a mutter. “You look different, as well.”

Lancelot sensed the same dangerous aura that once distended from a berserk Siegfried, and this time, it felt as if this deadly presence augmented itself. He could recognize  _ it _ anywhere, even if it morphed, changed, or disguised itself.

“Fafnir.” 

He mouthed in one loud whisper, his lips parting, his heart swelling in an unfolding fear. 

“Why...”

Before the question could be completed, Lancelot was kissed. 

A heavy gloved hand pushed his head from behind, coaxing it towards warmth and wetness. The same hand was also carefully angled to keep the sharp talons of its gauntlet away from Lancelot’s face. 

He felt heat flush his ears and burn his nape as he was kissed a second time, a little forcefully too as if he was intentionally marked.

“Do  _ I  _ feel different?”

Lancelot was allowed a breath between kisses to answer his mentor’s question. The pressure of his mouth, the roughness of lips, and mellowed warmth that came and went with each of those kisses were wickedly familiar. Knees buckling a little, Lancelot held with one hand, onto one of the wheel’s handles to steady himself, cradling the helm in the crook of his arm.

He felt the hand behind his head urge his face forward once more.

“No...” 

Lancelot gasped, his face reddening, his eyes downcast. His legs shifted uncomfortably, remembering a promise. Yet, with his growing affection chained so heavily to his heartstrings, he was becoming unsure of his ability to uphold that very promise.

“There is no significant transformation, Lancelot. You do not have to worry.”

His mentor took the helm from Lancelot, putting it on, his tawny eyes solemn. Lancelot did not manage to see the small smile hasten and flee just as fast on Siegfried’s face. 

“I merely asked for help.”

Siegfried turned towards the ship’s bow, lifting the mooring rope and pulling it back onto the deck. Attempting to douse the clash of desire and worry in his head, the Captain coughed a few times to steady his breath and compose himself. He gripped the handles of the wheel the moment the ship was released to fly. In one massive turn, the Engella swerved sharply, climbing her way upwards to the broken island above. 

Cold mists streamed past them as they breached the lower atmosphere. The ship’s propellers clinked as they revolved swiftly, condensation rapidly forming on their blades as well as the wing rudders of the ship. The tiny Engella rose above a burgeoning clump of clouds, in front of a rocky rise, intersected with pillars, protrusions, and ridges.  They were lucky, Lancelot thought, as he positioned the airship parallel to the rise. His mentor raised his sword and wordlessly pointed at a wide cleft between two rocky protrusions. He nodded in agreement and steered the ship towards the hiding spot, tucking her floating hull between walls of rock. Siegfried swung the mooring rope outwards, lassoing on one of the stone spires along the ridge. The protrusions provided a natural set of steps to the summit of the rise, and they crept upon these steps.

Then, they climbed up; bodies lowered as close to the rocks as they could.

Lucan Ansel’s primal beast came into sight.

“Quetzalcoatl.”

Siegfried mumbled as he adjusted the grip on his sword, letting the blade rest flat against his back. The two men crouched behind one tall rock spire, away from the beast’s line of vision. The feathered monster clung to the knotted apex of one of the ridges, casting a large shadow over the ground. Round, bulbous, and wholly black, its eyes were staring vacantly beyond an armored beak of mottled gold. A pair of enormous serpents twine around its feathered body, their colossal mouths opening, closing, slavering in anticipation.

“He was right.” The man scoffed a little, his fingers clasping and unclasping the sword’s hilt, his muscles working on memorizing his sword’s more substantial weight. 

“He?” Lancelot’s hand arched back, drawing out one of his shortswords quietly. 

“Valen was right,” Siegfried snorted, his finger pointing towards the creature perched on the rock rise. “Look, on its neck.”

A row of purple crystals girded the feathered monster’s neck, the growth aggregating and swelling downwards and around its body. Bright sparks crackled at regular intervals, surging across the crystals. Quetzalcoatl extended its three wings abruptly, beating them rapidly to lift its hulking body above the rise. The beast’s beak gaped wide, roaring, its talons clawing at the rocks it perched on, sending boulders crashing down through the mists that surrounded the half-island.

“This bastard!” Lancelot spat, as his other sword, was withdrawn immediately in growing agitation. His mentor’s hand swiftly pinned his wrist down. 

“No.” Siegfried’s head shook once, and his jaw inclined, jerking a little towards the monster. “It’s trying to lure us. Don’t be fooled.”

“It’ll drop the rest of this island on Feendrache, Siegfried-san!”

His hold on Lancelot’s wrist tightened. 

“I will not allow it to.”

Siegfried rose from behind the pillar, the length of his crimson blade shifting to rest along his shoulders. His eyes narrowed through the opening of his helm at the beast. 

Quetzalcoatl reared its three heads; its attention fixed on the tall black-armored man who appeared from behind the rocky pillars. The twin tails of the parasitic serpents pounded the earth, taunting the invaders, smashing boulders, and beribboning the slabs of sandstone around them.

Unexpectedly, the primal leaped into the air, unleashing an insane chorus of painful screams. The crystals around its neck flashed with sparks, sending the monster into a twisting seizure. Rapidly, it buffeted itself upwards on expanding wings, its talons clawing deliriously at nothing, blasting sand, gravel, and rocks into the air.

Siegfried saw a chance.

“Follow my opening, Lancelot! Do not slow down.”

He inhaled deeply, lashing his hands around the hilt of his sword. Dragonfire flared from between his fingers, streaming forth. In one mighty vault, he sprung from the rugged outcrop, hurling himself forward. The metal soles of his boots broke stone and cut rock as he skidded down towards the apex where Quetzalcoatl hovered.

“Have I ever fallen behind you?” The younger man yelled after, following his mentor’s stead, his twin shortswords trailing sheets of gleaming ice on the ridges to accelerate his descent after Siegfried. 

The primal beast sighted the approaching men. It lifted itself higher, its wings beating even more powerfully, gathering mists and winds into a massive tempest, pulling boulders and rocks into a magical gale. 

Quetzalcoatl snarled, a shrill hiss amplified above its cacophony. It flung a whirlwind full of shrapnel towards the two, the gusts wailing in bloodlust as it spun across the rocks, straight for Lancelot.

“Down!” 

Siegfried slid in front of the Captain, his sword held in a mighty death’s grip as he hurled his blade forward against the ground.

The earth shattered. 

And lifted. 

Gigantic octagonal blocks erupted skywards. The explosions brought with it a thundering rain of broken stone and rock around the two men. Lancelot lifted his arm, attempting to shield his eyes from the falling stones, his fingers rigidly clasping his sword’s hilt. 

“Siegfried-san! Are you alright?”

“Keep calm, Lancelot.” Siegfried kept his blade impaled in the ground, his hands tight around the long hilt as he half-knelt behind the shuddering stone shields. The land quaked as Quetzalcoatl bellowed in anger, its wings now wrought in lightning-enrobed gusts.

Enraged, the monster howled gale after gale at the stone blocks that denied it, its prey.  However, Siegfried knew the shield would not last another wave of attack from the primal beast.

Fire licked at his blade constantly, tinged scarlet and a deeper crimson. He lunged up, yanking the blade upright as the last of the stone blocks broke, smothered into layers of dust. Siegfried’s hands flexed, turning the weapon’s sharp edge forward, a sign for Lancelot to follow close behind. 

His mentor sprinted out of the dust clouds, the flaming blade fending against each wind spike hurtling towards them. The frayed edges of his cloak flew wildly behind him, caught in the gusts of swirling wind. Dragonfire streamed continuously from Siegfried’s sword now, the flames twining around each other as he ran. 

Red and gold like rivers of sunlight, the flames borrowed from Fafnir parted and flowed, around and beside him. 

Quetzalcoatl roared a warning as it hoisted itself upon a plateau, its talons scraping away at the rock face. The serpents around its body lurched and undulated. Their scaled bodies ballooned to grotesque proportions as they swallowed gust after gust, to release and to maim the black-armored figure running towards its host. Lightning crackled around the primal beast, flashes of bright white light sharding down upon Siegfried vehemently in an attempt to paralyze him. He flinched, tucking himself into a roll and dodged, bolting at unfathomable angles. 

Lancelot ran after his mentor, surprisingly keeping pace with Siegfried’s inhuman speed.

“Now, Lancelot!”

Siegfried launched himself up high towards the sky at Quetzalcoatl. His fiery sword swung up like a flaming meteor, its emblazoned trail bright like a sun, flames churning and roiling about its entire crimson length. 

The sword collided violently with the primal beast’s left wing, burning through the beast’s feathers. An acrid stench punctured the air as Siegfried plunged, his sword cleaving the monster’s wing, letting gravity and inertia shred the wing further apart from its body.

Lancelot heard the rip of flesh and the crack of bones. 

He raced forward, and from a towering spire of rock before him, Lancelot sprung into the air as Siegfried plummeted. The air around him froze in his wake, the extreme velocity of his flight tearing ice crystals from his blades, the whiteness trailing after him like snowfall. 

Lancelot drove in one sword and then the other, arching his back further for greater force. Each slash lanced away the monster’s feathers, tearing into its skin and freezing the finer bones that held the beast’s wing structure together. 

Feathers and icicles crumbled from Quetzalcoatl’s body.

The monster was now caught in a painful haze, and the two men took advantage of it, attacking its other wing in the same manner. Now devoid of its second wing, the primal tottered back, its talons clinging heavily to the plateau in instinct to survive.

Lancelot panted as he stood tiredly beside his mentor, wiping away a trickle of blood from a cut on his cheek where a rock had struck him. The primal beast no longer focused on them, and its monstrous body continued to sway in torment upon the plateau.

“Is it dying?”

Lancelot twirled his swords slowly in his hands, licking at his lower lip. He winced a little, finding another cut across his mouth. 

“It will soon. Look.” Siegfried lifted his sword, pointing towards the purple crystals embedded into the primal beast’s body. Viscous green blood poured from where the crystals met skin and flesh, roping down Quetzalcoatl’s body in thick, turbid strands. The monster keened and howled as its entire body quaked in suffering. “Ansel’s killing it, from wherever he’s at.”

“That would save us some time... “ Lancelot muttered as he slid one of his blades behind his back. “If it dies right here.”

His mentor did not reply. He seemed to listen cautiously, perhaps a little too warily to the primal beast’s cries.

Siegfried frowned.

_ Something was wrong. Those were not cries of pain.  _

Lancelot moved to keep his other sword as he swung around, feeling relieved and ready to return to the Engella. Then, he froze. 

His eyes stared ahead, a vacant fear seeping into his gaze.

“Siegfried-san…”

He lifted a trembling hand to beyond.

The flap of a thousand wings in unison reverberated through the air, like a clarion call of Hell.

Siegfried turned in the direction Lancelot pointed.

Chimeras.

Siegfried seized the hilt of his sword, eyeing the burgeoning darkness that engulfed the horizon. There was not much time left in this pact with Fafnir. He will have to destroy every single one of these foul creatures before time ran out.

Quetzalcoatl quietened, halting its keening call. The severely injured primal beast laid onto the plateau it was upon, its pairs of black eyes affixed to the two men who had turned their backs on it. The crystals chaining its body turned an opaque grey, each chunk cracking and falling off, leaving gaping holes in the primal’s body. Yet, these crystals impaled into it left more than just physical wounds.

They also devoured its soul.

The voice in its head had stopped. Blood continued to rope down the primal’s wounds, gathering into vast, murky green pools around its body. It knew it was dying. Within the hazy recesses of its mind, Quetzalcoatl watched the two men walk away, towards the other end of the island, towards the thousand chimeras that were waiting for them.

The army that the formless voice forced it to summon.

If monsters could even feel regret, perhaps it was the heaviness Quetzalcoatl felt pouring into its consciousness as its eyes closed in finality, its body disintegrating into specks of pale white and gold. 

Lancelot glanced behind him.

In his panic, he had forgotten about the primal beast. Shocked, he blinked rapidly, fully turning around only to witness a gleaming cloud of light motes rise and scatter into the overcast sky. 

Lancelot felt his stomach sink.

“Siegfried-san…” 

He looked up at his mentor, the taller man’s face was set in stony determination. Siegfried faced forward; his eyes tightly focused on the monstrous army descending upon the ridges.

“Shall we, Lancelot?” [ そろそろ行くか]

Fire blazed once more from Siegfried’s sword as he took a step forward. 

Lancelot gritted his teeth. His hands clenched his swords’ hilts as he followed his mentor.

“Right behind you.” [ 俺も続きます！]


	12. For the Righteous Glory of Feendrache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried and Lancelot vanquish the threat over Feendrache. King Carl holds a banquet in celebration of their valorous deeds.

Charred bodies littered the ground. Torn wings and severed limbs laid upon rocky outcrops, scorched by fire, frozen by ice. None of them stirred. Thin trails of smoke curled upwards together with the distinct rotten smell of torn viscera. Across the shattered landscape, there were sections of stone and rock that still smoldered, the heat in them not abating. 

Siegfried pulled his sword from the last chimera's heart, blood spurting from the monster's breast. 

The fires that engulfed his blade finally died.

He held his bloodstained sword upright, letting the gore slide down the edge. The deep glow of the crimson blade completely faded to a charcoal black. Then, the entire facade of his sword shattered soundlessly into scintillating black dust, like sand pillars blown away by the wind. 

Lancelot returned from checking on the airship to witness his mentor's sword regaining its original form. 

The blade no longer surged with Fafnir's Dragonfire. 

"Siegfried-san."

Lancelot took a long, slow look at Siegfried before closing the distance between them. His eyes lifted to look at the spread of defeated, dead monsters behind Siegfried, a tightness clenching at his heart. 

He could not believe they survived.

The taller man made a soft 'hmm' in his throat before he straightened, strapping the sword back to its usual place behind his back. 

"Come here."

He beckoned the younger man to come closer and lifted his gloved hand, placing it on top of Lancelot's head, stroking back his dark hair with slow movements. As if that very touch released all that was pent-up within Lancelot's heart, the younger man's lips wavered in relief, and he laid his forehead against Siegfried's chest. His mentor smelt of sweat, blood, and smoke. 

Yet, it comforted Lancelot.

"Shall we leave?"

He asked a little too softly, after sensing that Lancelot had calmed down and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, urging him to look up. Lancelot scrubbed at the edges of his eyes and took a few steps back, nodding.

"We should."

The return trip took longer than Lancelot expected. The fight with the chimeras destroyed one multi-propeller of the Engella. There were significant dents on its metal hull. The airship was still able to fly, and it took all of Lancelot's limited piloting expertise to direct the ship's descent back to the lower island. There were already a few Knights waiting, together with a tall, sturdy figure, the shock of blonde hair on his head catching the sunlight as he waved with all his might at the approaching airship.

"Lan-chan!" 

Vane hurriedly caught the mooring line thrown at him.

His eyes widened, brightening in genuine excitement upon seeing that  it was Siegfried who stood at the bow of the airship.    


"Siegfried-san too!" Vane gasped, typing the rope to the bollard at the deck. His gaze shifted quickly from Siegfried's bloodstained armor to his tattered cloak, and finally to the tired, grimy face of his best friend. Immediately, he looked skywards at the rocky bottom of the half-island above, most of it obscured by gray clouds.

"This is unfair." Vane sighed, knotting the mooring line and making his way to the ladder of the airship. The Knights who were with him chuckled at their Vice Captain's indignant comment. 

"Why is it that you always get to fight with Siegfried-san, Lan-chan?" Vane sighed yet again for good measure, his arms akimbo, and his mouth was drawn down in a sulk. "And all I get to do was to kill rats for three whole days."

"Vane…" 

Lancelot sighed audibly as he followed Siegfried down the ship. He was just about to chastise his friend when his mentor placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Siegfried shook his head and lifted a finger, placing it on his lips.

The blonde man was not looking at the both of them anymore. He lifted the thick rope, lashing it around a large iron ring that locked the airship to the dock. And as he scrutinized the state of the Engella, a pained expression came over his face the moment he saw the broken propellers and the disrepair on the ship's hull and floaters.

"Vane." 

Siegfried strode quite purposefully to where the Vice-Captain was.

"Siegfried-san!" The blonde man immediately stood at attention, his arms straightening by his side. "Yes, I'm here!"

"I need your help." Siegfried wore the most troubled expression he could think of, and his eyebrows arched very meaningfully towards Vane, his finger pointing towards the half-island above. 

"There are a thousand dead chimeras up there."

"A thousand?" Vane slowly repeated after Siegfried as if he did not hear the man at all. His eyes rounded and widened in shock. "A thousand!"

"Yes, Vane. One thousand." Siegfried repeated and nodded, that troubled expression now shifting to an extremely solemn one. The taller man's eyebrows knitted together, and he looked quite bothered. "Lancelot needs to treat his injuries. I'll need all the Knights' help to clear the bodies on that island up there."

Siegfried paused, tilting his head to a side, looking exceedingly perplexed. 

"And I'll need someone to lead…"

"I'll do it, Siegfried-san!" Vane interrupted immediately, puffing out his chest, quite cheerful that he was able to contribute. The Knights standing around laughed good-naturedly, and nodded, expressing their willingness to help their Vice-Captain complete this responsibility. Lancelot shook his head as he listened to the conversation quietly, another deep sigh caught in his throat. 

Yet in his heart, immense gratitude for his childhood friend welled up.

"Vane?" Lancelot mumbled, stepping towards the blonde man, his hand moving to grasp Vane's forearm. Bare confusion came over Vane's face at Lancelot's approach, and he winced softly upon seeing bloodied cuts on his best friend's face. 

"Lan-chan, you should go to the infirmary now with Siegfried-san now." Vane grabbed Lancelot's shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. "I'll take care of this. You can rely on me."

"Thank you, Vane." Lancelot gulped and with one deep breath, pulled his best friend into a hug, his face buried in Vane's shoulder. Pleasantly astonished by the sudden gesture of affection by Lancelot, Vane laughed heartily and held onto him, patting his Captain encouragingly on his back. 

The two were summoned by King Carl later that evening, the King wearing the most bemused expression on his face as he listened attentively to Lancelot's report. There was no one else in the study apart from the King, Siegfried, and himself. Not even a guard nor an aide. King Carl shook his head and moved to sit on the chair behind his enormous writing table. A painting of his brother hung behind him. The dim lamps in the study cast a mysterious glow on Josef's features, the half-smile on his lips, and the enigmatic glint in his eyes.

Lancelot pressed his lips together in a thin line and repeated himself, heavily insistent.

"Lucan Ansel must have a spy here, your Majesty."

"You do not have a name, Captain," King Carl reiterated, impatience amplified in his reply now. "There is absolutely no basis for such accusations."

"But, your Majesty!"

Siegfried placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder. 

"Let us go, Captain. His Majesty is tired." 

He placed forceful pressure on Lancelot's back, a silent warning. Gritting his teeth, the Captain bowed stiffly and took his leave, bidding the King a restful eve. Siegfried paused a little, not immediately following Lancelot. He took a long look at the painting of his former King, at the eyes that belied wisdom beyond years and the mouth that taught, restrained, and advised.

"Siegfried."

"Your Majesty." The tall man bowed the moment he was addressed. 

"What would my brother had done in this situation?" The King murmured, placing his large hands on the table, looking at the lamplight play across the gold signet ring he wore. 

Siegfried smiled wanly as if recalling something.

"The same, your Majesty." He replied after a moment. "He would have done the same."

There was a long pause as King Carl shifted in his chair, his head turned to glance at the portrait of his brother. His hand reached out to touch Josef's hand, his palm flattening on the painted surface.

"Thank you, Siegfried."

"Please rest well, your Majesty." Siegfried bowed again before he left the study.

The constant cold winds whistling across the castle grounds signaled the coming of winter. Autumn had departed and, together with it, the last shedding of leaves, leaving the trees bare-branched. A festive spirit soared in the castle, and the Order for King Carl had declared the evening to be a celebration for Siegfried and Lancelot's bravery in saving Feendrache. All the Knights, as well as those who were in training, were gripped with excitement. Especially those who had heard of Siegfried's valorous deeds as the Captain of the Black Dragons and had never seen him in person. The King invited his nobles as well, the esteemed men and women who served the Court, to the celebration. 

Vane stood at the end of a long table piled high with a gourmand's dream, bright-eyed, his cheeks completely flushed with anticipation. He was appropriately dressed for once, in a white turndown collared dress shirt, a cobalt blue tie, and a matching vest of deep tangerine and gold. His head of unruly blonde locks was also combed for the occasion. 

Though, his behavior did not precisely seem very refined at this moment as he stared hungrily at the food.

The servers brought out even more platters of meat and fish, laying it before him.

He should eat his fill tonight! And drink too. After all, he and his men cleared a thousand chimera corpses from the upper island. Balancing two plates piled high with slices of drachenboar and grilled pennyfowl, Vane tried to look for his best friend. 

Lancelot stood at the far end of the ballroom, surrounded by nobles and knights alike. Some attempted small talk, some clinked glasses of wine or champagne, and all praised the valor and courage of the Captain. The King had made his congratulatory speech earlier and retired for the night. 

Lancelot watched the well-dressed crowd listlessly, drawing the fluted glass away from his mouth as he was left alone for once. It was the twelfth time that night he took yet another sip of wine, and his head felt light. Quietly, he moved to a corner of the ballroom and leaned against the wall, hoping for a private moment amidst the revelry around him. 

The Captain was kept busy the weeks leading up to this celebration, training recruits, finishing reports, and writing briefs for the winter expeditions. However, King Carl never again asked for any further reports on the chimera invasion, nor Lucan Ansel. 

Lancelot cradled the wineglass in his hands slowly, watching his partial reflection distort upon the surface of the wine. So transfixed was he in staring at the dark red swirls of liquid that he did not notice the gleaming rim of another glass appear and gently tap the glass he held.

Startled, Lancelot looked up as the glass withdrew, recognizing at once the tall man who was before him.

"Siegfried-san."

His mentor looked quite awkward in the dress shirt and black double-breasted jacket he wore. Siegfried, too held a wine glass, but it was stiffly gripped in his hand, the glass half-filled with champagne that had obviously gone flat. 

"Lancelot."

Siegfried smiled wearily.

Lancelot laughed in both affection and amusement at the way Siegfried held himself together, the worn expression of endured suffering replete on his features. He must have had a tough time trying to get away from his admirers, Lancelot thought. Grinning, he lifted his glass towards Siegfried, about to toast when another glass, one filled to the brim, entered their space and clanked noisily with his glass and Siegfried's.

"Lan-chan!" 

Vane knocked his wineglass against Lancelot's. And he pivoted on his heels, to smack the rim of his glass to Siegfried's. 

"Siegfried-san!"

The blonde man toasted both and promptly downed the entire glass. He smacked his lips in satisfaction and pressed a hand over his mouth, stifling a burp. 

Lancelot covered his mouth with his hand quickly; he did not feel too well himself. He swallowed a little, making sure he was not going to throw up before glaring at Vane.

"How many glasses did you drink, Vane?" 

"Seven, Lan-chan, only seven."

"You should stop." Lancelot admonished, reaching out to tug at Vane's hand the moment he lifted his right arm to call the server for another glass. "No more, Vane."

"But it's your party, Lan-chan. And Siegfried-san's too. You two should be drinking more." 

"It's not about the party," Lancelot grumbled, leaning further against the wall. Denied from having his eighth glass of wine, Vane swiped the glass from Lancelot's hands and unhesitatingly downed the contents of that glass. His lips pursed as he swallowed that mouthful of wine, his expression immediately souring. The wine was warm and tepid, grating on the tongue and terrible to drink. 

Siegfried arched an eyebrow at Vane's actions, his eyes darkening as Vane pressed Lancelot's wineglass against his mouth. The blonde fellow was absolutely teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk and utterly unaware of what he was doing. 

"Since you're not drinking this as well, Siegfried-san."

Vane grinned, and his hand reached out, plucking Siegfried's glass from his hand. The contents were too, instantly consumed, and Vane coughed, slapping at his chest for the stale champagne in Siegfried's glass, was disastrously worse than Lancelot's red wine.

It was Lancelot's turn to lift his eyebrows at Vane's motions. His eyes widened in disbelief as his best friend lifted his mentor's wineglass and perched the rim on his lips.

A buzz floated pleasantly in Vane's head. It was a lovely party, and he was definitely not drunk since he could still make out the faces of his childhood friend and Siegfried. They seemed to be too close for comfort. Then, there was a firm and unhappy grip around each of his forearms. The last Vane remembered was him being hauled out of the ballroom and had his face planted down on his bed.

Lancelot closed Vane's bedroom door tightly and leaned against it, sighing again. His clothing was disheveled, his coat unfastened, and the blue ribbon around his neck unraveled, yanked loose by his best friend's flailing hand. The three of them had left the celebration early. The guests were rather accommodating to their departure, upon seeing the very drunk Vice-Captain they were escorting.

"Is he asleep?" Siegfried moved out of the shadows in the hallway, his coat unbuttoned, and the white shirt he wore, crumpled and slightly stained. Lancelot nodded.

"Slept straight away on the bed." 

Pulling himself away from the door, Lancelot pressed a palm against his temple, the lightheadedness of earlier returning. He rubbed at his cheeks. Those tiny sips of wine still did add up to something, and Lancelot felt a little unwell. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door.

"Lancelot?" Siegfried put a hand on the younger man's arm, squeezing it gently to wake him up. The same hand moved, his fingers sweeping underneath Lancelot's jaw, hooking the latter's head slightly upwards.

"Ah…" Lancelot’s eyes fluttered open, his lips parting unconsciously. 

Siegfried leaned in, resting the length of his forearm against the door, lowering his mouth to Lancelot's ear. 

"Do you want to sleep?" He voiced quietly, in genuine concern, his arm shifting, and his hand now rested on Lancelot's dark locks. All he needed was just a tiny push, and Lancelot fell into his embrace, his slender body heaving slightly. 

"No." Arms lifting to curl around Siegfried's neck, Lancelot raised himself, his lips pressing into his mentor's warm neck. "No."

He repeated softly, insistently as he kissed Siegfried's neck again and withdrew himself, falling back flat on his heels. His hands slipped downwards to hang on Siegfried's forearms, feeling the man's muscles twitch beneath the layers of fabric, at his touch. When was the last time he felt this so needy? Lancelot could not remember. Between that one autumn night and now, there were but only touches and kisses — nothing more apart from being treated somewhat preciously. 

Perhaps, he thought, he should be a little more daring. 

Lancelot grasped his mentor's hand now, pulling him away from the door and to the shadowy recess behind two pillars in the hallway. He drew in a breath and tugged at Siegfried's coat lapels, urging him forward. 

"I want you," He whispered, eyes searching the other man's face and pushed his lips onto Siegfried's. That kiss was returned after a moment, and Lancelot felt hands press against his back, arms framing and wrapping around his body. 

Their kisses were not passionate nor fiery at first. Instead, it lingered soft, sweet like snowflakes melting upon warmed cheeks, like the first fall of rain in summer. Then, Lancelot felt a tongue part his lips, chasing his own, the kisses between them deepening.

Lancelot pulled slightly away, his hands clasping and unclasping upon Siegfried's coat. His hands finally unclasped, trailing down the man's shirt, unbuttoning it. His hands continued tracing further down the expansive length of the taller man's waist. His fingers finally rested on Siegfried's belt, and in one decisive motion, Lancelot unbuckled it.

A little more daring, Lancelot coaxed himself a little reluctantly. This would be more than just a little more. 

"The patrol," Siegfried murmured, placing his hand on Lancelot's shoulder and shifting the both of them further into the shadows of the massive pillars. His fingers inch up, trailing around Lancelot's ear, down the curve of his neck, and rested them on his clavicle, slowly rubbing the heated skin there. 

To hell with the patrol. Lancelot thought and threw away the remainder of his propriety for that night. Being half-hidden in shadow, having that control over his mentor's desire for him, further thrilled the dark-haired youth. He undid the front of Siegfried's pants, pushing aside the flap of cloth to touch him, slipping his hands further in, stroking, lifting, and gently scratching. Lancelot was immediately rewarded. A hoarse moan sighed across his ear as Siegfried pressed forward, allowing the younger man greater access, absolute control.

Siegfried closed his eyes, frowning, somewhat regretting his current vulnerability. Their lewd actions, the lusty purrs, gasping cries, and the ominous clanking of boots of the night's patrol marching down the same hallway only served to make him even harder — his desire for more than just Lancelot's fingers and hands, mounting slowly in his groin. 

He exhaled, suddenly feeling slender fingers clamp over his hips and a wet mouth nurse his erection shyly. Siegfried's eyes opened to a bare slit, watching how delicately Lancelot was pleasuring him. The muscles in his legs twitched, and Siegfried leaned against the pillars, his breath coming now ragged. 

Abruptly, he pulled his lover away from his groin, panting as he did. 

"Not here, Lancelot." He gripped the young man's shoulders, urging him up, clasping him close, kissing him. It was salty, musky even. And it tasted deeply of his desires that almost escaped. Flattened against the taller man, Lancelot felt his hardness push through the cloth of his pants against Siegfried's naked length. 

Lancelot's lips curved into a smile against Siegfried's mouth.

"Come with me." He gripped onto Siegfried's arms, pulled up the taller man's pants, buckling it haphazardly, and dragged him away from the safety of the pillars' shadows. 

Siegfried winced at the sudden tightness between his legs. How miserable! He growled softly as Lancelot picked up his pace, making both of them walk briskly down the hallway in the opposite direction. They wove around the pillars and slipped past shadow and moonlight, laughing softly as they found their way towards Lancelot's bedroom on the upper floor.


	13. Valen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried tells Lancelot about Valen's identity.

They laid curled into each other like two creatures seeking warmth on a cold wintry night, beneath blankets still scented mildly of the lust and love of earlier. Lancelot fidgeted slightly as large hands moved down towards his bare bottom, touching, seeking but not exactly wanting. 

"Are you alright?" Those hands flattened themselves against the small of his back again, warming his skin. Lancelot tucked his head under Siegfried's chin at the question, making a soft 'mm' sound and pressing his lips to the hollow in his neck lightly. Again, Siegfried was too thoughtful and considerate. Even when he was caught in the heat of the moment still, he refused to release his all inside.

Lancelot pulled himself up a little against the pillows, his arms moving to embrace Siegfried's head, slipping and teasing his fingers through the still damp locks of brown hair. He rested his chin atop his mentor's head for a while and breathed in gently, feeling the large hands move upwards, tracing the curve of his spine and wrap themselves around his shoulders. 

"Lancelot?"

His name was murmured against his chest, rough lips moving against his skin to piece each syllable of his name slowly. Blankets were pulled up and tucked around him. Perhaps Siegfried thought Lancelot trembled from the rising chill in the cold bedroom. 

And not the way he had so affectionately uttered his name.

The hands upon Lancelot's shoulders slipped down to grasp his forearms, and he was carefully urged down until he met Siegfried's eyes. 

"I want to tell you about Valen."

Lancelot's eyes widened, and he felt a cold tingle sink in his stomach. He did wonder at the relationship within his mentor, and that charming man and the thought brought back an unsavoriness in his mouth.

"Valen?" 

Lancelot's voice was strained.

"Yes, Valen."

The hands that held his forearms did not loosen their hold, and he was gathered close, his cheek pressed close against Siegfried's chest. 

"Are you not curious?"

Lancelot stayed quiet for a moment and waited, listening to the steady and calm beat of Siegfried's heart in his ear. He half-expected some fluster or a little anxiety from Siegfried, but there was none.

"I  _ was _ curious." He admitted, slightly drawing his head down, a flush of red creeping across his cheeks as he recalled the moment he accused Siegfried of being a liar. There was another long moment of silence, and all Lancelot heard was even breathing until Siegfried spoke again.

"He became part of the Royal Knights a month after I joined." Siegfried turned and laid on his back; his eyes fixed on the ceiling of Lancelot's bedroom. "He was very open about what he was capable of."

His eyes closed, his brow knotting in recollection.

"Be it his ability to heal others so miraculously, his knowledge of monsters, even the strangest or rarest ones, and military tactics no one knew of or seen before." 

Siegfried paused, tilting his head to the side, and his eyes opened just barely, watching Lancelot’s expressions.

"There was just one thing he never mentioned then."

"What was it?" Lancelot's lips parted, interest piqued, and his embarrassment forgotten.

"He told us he lived in Wales when he was younger. But who his parents were, where he was born, we never knew." Siegfried pursed his mouth, eyebrows knitting as he continued.

"But, Gunther took a liking to him immediately."

Siegfried chuckled, closing his eyes. He lifted his hand and pinched his forehead.

"So, he often joined us for expeditions."

"Did you like him too?" Lancelot asked a little too quickly and then immediately regretted, biting his lower lip. Siegfried's hand moved to scratch at his hairline, and he shook his head. 

"He was a good partner. I respected him for all that he had done for the Knights."

Shifting his position, Siegfried propped himself up sideways, balancing his weight on his arm that rested on the bed. He leaned close to Lancelot, watching the younger man's face again before speaking. 

"Then, there was this expedition his Majesty sent us to where we must capture or kill Lucan Ansel."

Lancelot let out a small sound in his throat and clamped his mouth shut, waiting for Siegfried to continue his story.

"Valen was captured by Ansel. When he returned..."

Siegfried frowned, his eyes lifted upwards to the ceiling again. 

"What happened when he returned?" Lancelot sat up completely, pulling the wool blankets close around his body. He breathed and exhaled, his eyes wide with anticipation of what was to be revealed next. 

"He tried to kill me." Siegfried’s replied flatly.

"What?" Lancelot blinked rapidly, clutching the bedsheets with his hands and leaned towards Siegfried, his face wrought in surprise and mild anger, his voice rising a notch.

"Why would he try to kill you? That made no sense!"

"Heh, it made a lot of sense because he was controlled by Ansel just like Queztcoalt."

"Queztcoalt?" That was the primal beast that they fought some time back, manipulated by the rebel leader Lucan Ansel. Lancelot frowned, thinking before his expression turned incredulous. "You mean…?"

"Valen," Siegfried now laid back on his back against the pillows. His chest sank and expanded with a sigh. "He is a primal beast."

Lancelot remained extremely quiet, his eyes fixated on Siegfried now, waiting and holding his breath for an explanation. It seemed all too unreal.

"He fell to Ansel's trap. To release him, I cut his hands and arms off."

"Siegfried-san!" The dark-haired youth gasped, his mouth gaping. 

Siegfried gestured with his fingers, tracing the air around his arms to illustrate something, and he shook his head again, "There was no way to help him out of it, except that."

"But how?" Lancelot's hand moved surreptitiously to his neck and shoulder, where Valen had healed him.

His mentor chuckled lowly though and rested an arm across his forehead, "The next day, his hands and arms were back, and he vanished that same night."

Siegfried's eyes crinkled slightly as if he was withholding a laugh.

"A month later, we were told by King Josef that Ansel lost one of his arms, and the rebels fled, together with him, from Burgundy."

"Wait, Siegfried-san. What happened to Valen?" It was Lancelot's turn to frown now as he contemplated Siegfried's amused expression. 

"Ah, him. He left the Knights the same day we were given the news of Ansel, and said he was retiring to a village in the northern reaches."

Siegfried closed his eyes, settling his forearm over them.

"And he's been there ever since. Primal beasts live a long life, Lancelot. When you and I are gone, he'd be still around."

Shifting his arm, he opened his eyes a little, watching the ceiling again before turning to look out of the windows at the winter sky. It had started to snow, tiny white specks shifting and wavering into the room. Siegfried got up from the bed and moved to shut the windows nearest to them, completely ignoring the strewn garments on the floor upon which he stepped on. 

Was it a strand of regret he heard in Siegfried's voice? Lancelot gripped the blankets tighter around himself, hunching further into the layers. He lifted his eyes, watching the silhouetted back of the tall man as he closed the windows, swallowed the sour feeling in his throat, and kept very silent, lost in a storm of thoughts.

"Lancelot."

Lancelot looked up, shielded within layers of wool. "Siegfried-san…"

Siegfried sat on the bed and leaned against the bed's headboard, his arms opening to receive the younger man wrapped up in the blankets next to him.

"Come."

Lancelot refused to move.

"It's cold." Siegfried gripped the edge of the blankets, unfolding it partially and covering whatever he could about his naked legs and lower half. He leaned forward, shifting his position and reached out a hand to pat Lancelot's dark head.

"Siegfried-san."

"Hmm?" His hand paused, cupping the back of Lancelot's head. 

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to know a little more about my past, Lancelot." He smiled as his hand started to stroke Lancelot's head again. "From now on, what you might learn may burden your mind, and they will make you uncomfortable."

Lancelot gulped, his head nodding slowly as if he was acknowledging his feelings at the moment and his mentor's willingness to speak of secrets. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on Siegfried's shoulder. The man's skin was chilled, cold, and he blew softly on it, warming that small patch of skin with his breath.

Siegfried pressed a kiss to the top of Lancelot's head.

"The strength to shoulder through all that, is truly what I demand of you, Lancelot."

There was no reply from Lancelot, only a soft exhalation of breath. And perhaps none was needed for this moment as his arms lifted to arch around Siegfried's neck, and his hands palmed the muscles of his mentor's back. Siegfried pulled up the blankets around them, tightening the layers of wool about their entwined bodies. He held Lancelot close, his chin resting on soft dark locks of hair and whispered.

"Shall we move on then?"

He felt a moistness tickle his neck, followed by a few hesitant kisses. Siegfried laughed, his lips unconsciously parting into a lopsided grin and tilted his head down to kiss Lancelot fully upon his mouth. Then, he pulled away, watching the younger man's face flush and his eyes becoming semi-lidded in pleasure.

"Yes, Siegfried-san." 


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valen takes leave of Marisa and tells her to take care of his strawberry garden.

Valen stood up from a kneeling position before a patch of strawberry plants. He curled his fingers around the small basket filled with plump red fruit and exited the tiny greenhouse. Once outside, the red-haired man exhaled, watching his breath mist in the cold morning air. He popped a strawberry into his mouth, biting half of it and chewing slowly. Soon, his face turned thoughtful as he watched wisps of clouds shift and cascade over the mountains beyond.

Caught in his reverie, he did not notice Marisa coming to stand next to him and sneakily take a strawberry from the basket he held in one hand. 

“Mhm!” She exclaimed, popping the whole fruit into her mouth. “Oh, this is so good. Was this from the plants you’ve gotten from Wales?”

Valen snapped out of his thoughts, jerking his head sideways to stare at Marisa before mouthing sharply, his handsome face irritated.

“Did I say you can have one?”

“I’ve already eaten one!” She teased, sticking out her strawberry-stained tongue at him. “They are delicious. Though I never knew Wales has such excellent strawberries. Who gave you these plants?”

Valen remained quiet. He popped another strawberry in his mouth, slowly savoring the softness of the fruit.

“A prince did.” Valen grinned, licking a drop of red juice on his lower lip as he looked in the direction of the mountains again. 

“A prince? He must have really liked you then.” Marisa giggled and turned her head in the same direction as Valen was looking at, her hand moving to tuck flying locks of hair behind her ear. 

“I wonder if Siegfried-san and Lancelot-san are alright.” She sighed, clasping her hands together. 

“They will be.” The redhead laughed, and he reached out to take Marisa’s hand, placing the basket of strawberries in them. “Here, I’m giving this to you.”

He seemed to look very satisfied for a moment, his hands perched on his hips as he looked over the little glass greenhouse next to them. “And that too.”

Valen jerked his chin at the greenhouse, “Take care of them, Marisa. These strawberries are very important to the person who gifted them to me.”

“Are you leaving, Valen?” Marisa held the basket of fruit tightly to her breast, her eyes widening at the healer. 

“Yes, Marisa. I’m leaving.” He touched the top of her head and leaned into peck a kiss on the woman’s cheek. Then, he took a step back, his eyes twinkling.

“I have a King to catch and a prince to meet.”

Fin~


End file.
